JKWERSITY  OF 

ILLCMO.S  LIBRARY 

AT  URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 

STACKS 


"NTRAl  CIRCUUTIOH  AND  BOOKSIACKS 

The  person  borrowing  this  m»,        , 

„  .        TO  RENEW,  CAU  (2171  333.8dnn 


b"iL"p7e"r«,„^,^,P^°ne.  w.,e  new  .ue  .aie 

L162 


Gemrd  C.  Berthold 


i 


University  of  Illinois  Library  at  Urbana-Champaign 


PUBLICATIONS  OF  THE 
ROOSEVELT  MEMORIAL  ASSOCIATION 


I.  ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 


--^    tV.-    *  ■•■-'Pi 


THEODORE   ROOSEVELT 
On  the  round-up,  1885 


ROOSEVELT 
IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

BY 
HERMANN  HAGEDORN 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


f     I 


% 
o 

ma 
Oi 

« 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

atfte  RiteriSibe  ^ttii  Cambtibge 
1921 


COPYRIGHT,  I92I,    BY  HERMANN  HAGEDORN 
ALL    RIGHTS  RESERVED 


^ 


TO 


^  WILLIAM  BOYCE  THOMPSON 

CAPTAIN  OF  INDUSTRY 


AND  DREAMER  OF  DREAMS 


REMOTE 


STORAGE 


It  was  still  the  Wild  West  in  those  days,  the  Far  West,  the 
West  of  Owen  Wister's  stories  and  Frederic  Remington's 
drawings,  the  West  of  the  Indian  and  the  buffalo-hunter,  the 
soldier  and  the  cow-puncher.  That  land  of  the  West  has  gone 
now,  "gone,  gone  with  lost  Atlantis,"  gone  to  the  isle  of  ghosts 
and  of  strange  dead  memories.  It  was  a  land  of  vast  silent 
spaces,  of  lonely  rivers,  and  of  plains  where  the  wild  game 
stared  at  the  passing  horseman.  It  was  a  land  of  scattered 
ranches,  of  herds  of  long-horned  cattle,  and  of  reckless  riders 
who  unmoved  looked  in  the  eyes  of  life  or  death.  In  that  land 
we  led  a  free  and  hardy  life,  with  horse  and  with  rifle.  We 
worked  under  the  scorching  midsummer  sun,  when  the  wide 
plains  shimmered  and  wavered  in  the  heat;  and  we  knew  the 
freezing  misery  of  riding  night  guard  round  the  cattle  in  the 
late  fall  round-up.  In  the  soft  springtime  the  stars  were 
glorious  in  our  eyes  each  night  before  we  fell  asleep;  and  in 
the  winter  we  rode  through  blinding  blizzards,  when  the 
driven  snow-dust  burnt  our  faces.  There  were  monotonous 
days,  as  we  guided  the  trail  cattle  or  the  beef  herds,  hour  after 
hour,  at  the  slowest  of  walks;  and  minutes  or  hours  teeming 
with  excitement  as  we  stopped  stampedes  or  swam  the  herds 
across  rivers  treacherous  with  quicksands  or  brimmed  with 
running  ice.  We  knew  toil  and  hardship  and  hunger  and 
thirst;  and  we  saw  men  die  violent  deaths  as  they  worked 
among  the  horses  and  cattle,  or  fought  in  evil  feuds,  with  one 
another;  but  we  felt  the  beat  of  hardy  life  in  our  veins,  and 
ours  was  the  glory  of  work  and  the  joy  of  living. 

Theodore  Roosevelt 
{Autobiography) 


PREFACE 

To  write  any  book  is  an  adventure,  but  to  write 
this  book  has  been  the  kind  of  gay  and  romantic 
experience  that  makes  any  man  who  has  partaken 
of  it  a  debtor  forever  to  the  Giver  of  DeHghts.  His- 
torical research,  contrary  to  popular  opinion,  is  one 
of  the  most  thrilling  of  occupations,  but  I  question 
whether  any  biographer  has  ever  had  a  better  time 
gathering  his  material  than  I  have  had.  Amid  the 
old  scenes,  the  old  epic  life  of  the  frontier  has  been 
re-created  for  me  by  the  men  who  were  the  leading 
actors  in  it.  But  my  contact  with  it  has  not  been 
only  vicarious.  In  the  course  of  this  most  grateful 
of  labors  I  have  myself  come  to  know  something  of 
the  life  that  Roosevelt  knew  thirty-five  years  ago 
—  the  hot  desolation  of  noon  in  the  scarred  butte 
country ;  the  magic  of  dawn  and  dusk  when  the  long 
shadows  crept  across  the  coulees  and  woke  them  to 
unexpected  beauty;  the  solitude  of  the  prairies,  that 
have  the  vastness  without  the  malignancy  of  the 
sea.  I  have  come  to  know  the  thrill  and  the  dust 
and  the  cattle-odors  of  the  round-up;  the  warm  com- 
panionship of  the  ranchman's  dinner- table;  such 
profanity  as  I  never  expect  to  hear  again;  singing 
and  yarns  and  hints  of  the  tragedy  of  prairie 
women;  and,  at  the  height  of  a  barbecue,  the  appall- 
ing intrusion  of  death.  I  have  felt  in  all  its  potency 


X  PREFACE 

the  spell  which  the  "short-grass  country"  cast 
over  Theodore  Roosevelt ;  and  I  cannot  hear  the  word 
Dakota  without  feeling  a  stirring  in  my  blood. 

It  was  Mr.  Roosevelt  himself  who  gave  me  the  im- 
pulse to  write  this  book,  and  it  was  the  letters  of  in- 
troduction which  he  wrote  early  in  191 8  which  made 
it  possible  for  me  to  secure  the  friendly  interest  of 
the  men  who  knew  most  about  his  life  on  the  ranch 
and  the  range.  "If  you  want  to  know  what  I  was 
like  when  I  had  bark  on,"  he  said,  "you  ought  to 
talk  to  Bill  Sewall  and  Merrifield  and  Sylvane  Ferris 
and  his  brother  Joe."  I  was  writing  a  book  about 
him  for  boys  at  the  time,  and  again  and  again  he 
said,  "I  want  you  to  go  out  to  Dakota!"  On  one 
occasion  I  referred  to  his  life  in  the  Bad  Lands  as 
"a  kind  of  idyl."  "That's  it!"  he  exclaimed. 
"That's  it  !  That's  exactly  what  it  was  !" 

The  wish  he  had  expressed,  living,  became  in  a 
sense  a  command  after  he  was  dead.  The  letters  he 
had  given  me  unsealed  the  lips  of  the  men  who, 
for  thirty-five  years,  had  steadily  refused  to  reveal 
to  "newspaper  fellers"  the  intimate  story  of  the 
romantic  life  they  had  shared  with  the  man  who 
became  President  of  the  United  States.  From  Dick- 
inson, North  Dakota,  came  Sylvane  Ferris;  from 
Terry,  Montana,  came  "Joe"  Ferris;  from  Somers, 
Montana,  came  "Bill"  Merrifield;  and,  on  their 
old  stamping-ground  along  the  Little  Missouri,  un- 
folded, bit  by  bit,  the  story  of  the  four  years  of 
Roosevelt's  active  ranching  life.  In  the  deserted 
barroom    of    the    old    "Metropolitan    Hotel"    at 


PREFACE  xi 

Medora  (rechristened  the  "Rough  Riders");  on  the 
ruins  of  the  Maltese  Cross  cabin  and  under  the  mur- 
muring cottonwoods  at  Elkhorn,  they  spun  their 
joyous  yarns.  Apart  from  what  they  had  to  tell,  it 
was  worth  traveling  two  thirds  across  the  Continent 
to  come  to  know  these  figures  of  an  heroic  age; 
and  to  sit  at  Sylvane  Ferris 's  side  as  he  drove  his 
Overland  along  the  trails  of  the  Bad  Lands  and 
through  the  quicksands  of  the  Little  Missouri, 
was  in  itself  not  an  insignificant  adventure.  Mrs. 
Margaret  Roberts,  at  Dickinson,  had  her  own 
stories  to  tell;  and  in  the  wilderness  forty  miles 
west  of  Lake  McDonald,  on  the  Idaho  border, 
John  Reuter,  known  to  Roosevelt  as  "Dutch  Wan- 
nigan, "  told,  as  no  one  else  could,  of  the  time  he 
was  nearly  killed  by  the  Marquis  de  Mores.  A 
year  later  it  was  Schuyler  Lebo  who  guided  me  in 
a  further  search  for  material,  fifty  miles  south  from 
Medora  by  buckboard  through  the  wild,  fantastic 
beauty  of  the  Bad  Lands.  I  doubt  if  there  is  any  one 
I  missed  who  had  anything  to  tell  of  Roosevelt. 

So  far  as  any  facts  relating  to  Roosevelt  or  to  the 
Western  frontier  can  ever  be  described  as  "cold," 
it  is  a  narrative  of  cold  facts  which  I  have  attempted 
to  tell  in  this  book.  The  truth,  in  this  case,  is  ro- 
mantic enough  and  needs  no  embellishment.  I  have 
made  every  effort  to  verify  my  narrative,  but,  to 
some  extent,  I  have  had  to  depend,  inevitably,  on 
the  character  of  the  men  and  women  who  gave  me 
my  data,  as  every  historical  writer  must  who  deals 
not  with  documents  (which  may,  of  course,  them- 


Xll 


PREFACE 


selves  be  mendacious),  but  with  what  is,  in  a  sense, 
"raw  material."  One  highly  dramatic  story,  dealing 
with  Roosevelt's  defiance  of  a  certain  desperate  char- 
acter, which  has  at  different  times  during  the  past 
twenty-five  years  been  printed  in  leading  news- 
papers and  periodicals,  told  always  by  the  same 
writer,  I  have  had  to  reject  because  I  could  find  no 
verification  of  it,  though  I  think  it  may  well  be  true. 

In  weaving  my  material  into  a  connected  narrative 
I  have  consciously  departed  from  fact  in  only  one 
respect.  Certain  names  —  a  half-dozen  or  so  in  all 
—  are  fictitious.  In  certain  cases,  in  which  the  story 
I  had  to  tell  might  give  needless  offense  to  the  actors 
in  it  still  surviving,  or  to  their  children,  and  in  which 
I  was  consequently  confronted  by  the  alternative  of 
rejecting  the  story  in  question  or  changing  the  names, 
I  chose  the  latter  course  without  hesitation.  It  is 
quite  unessential,  for  instance,  what  the  real  name 
was  of  the  lady  known  in  this  book  as  "Mrs.  Cum- 
mins"; but  her  story  is  an  important  element  in  the 
narrative.  To  those  who  may  recognize  themselves 
under  the  light  veil  I  have  thrown  over  their  por- 
traits, and  may  feel  grieved,  I  can  only  say  that, 
inasmuch  as  they  were  inhabitants  of  the  Bad  Lands 
when  Theodore  Roosevelt  and  the  Marquis  de  Mores 
shaped  their  destinies  there  for  good  or  ill,  they  be- 
came historical  figures  and  must  take  their  chances 
at  the  judgment  seat  of  posterity  with  Nebuchad- 
nezzar and  Caesar  and  St.  Augustine  and  Calamity 
Jane. 

The    Northwestern    newspapers   of    the    middle 


PREFACE  xiii 

eighties  contain  much  valuable  material,  not  only 
about  the  Marquis  and  his  romantic  enterprises, 
which  greatly  interested  the  public,  but  about 
Roosevelt  himself.  The  files  of  the  Press  of  Dickin- 
son, North  Dakota,  and  the  Pioneer  of  Mandan, 
have  proved  especially  useful,  though  scarcely  more 
useful  than  those  of  the  Bismarck  Tribune,  the  Min- 
neapolis Journal,  and  the  Dispatch  and  Pioneer 
Press  of  St.  Paul.  The  cut  of  Roosevelt's  cattle- 
brands,  printed  on  the  jacket,  is  reproduced  from  the 
Stock  growers'  Journal  of  Miles  City.  I  have  sought 
high  and  low  for  copies  of  the  Bad  Lands  Cowboy, 
published  in  Medora,  but  only  one  copy  —  Joe 
Ferris's — has  come  to  light.  "'Bad-man'  Finnegan," 
it  relates  among  other  things,  "is  serving  time  in  the 
Bismarck  penitentiary  for  stealing  Theodore  Roose- 
velt's  boat."  But  that  is  a  part  of  the  story;  and  this 
is  only  a  Preface. 

Colonel  Roosevelt's  own  books,  notably  "Hunting 
Trips  of  a  Ranchman,"  "Ranch  Life  and  the  Hunt- 
ing Trail,"  "The  Wilderness  Hunter,"  and  the 
"Autobiography,"  have  furnished  me  an  important 
part  of  my  material,  giving  me  minute  details  of  his 
hunting  experiences  which  I  could  have  secured 
nowhere  else;  and  I  am  indebted  to  the  publishers, 
Messrs.  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  Messrs.  Charles  Scrib- 
ner's  Sons,  and  the  Century  Company,  for  permis- 
sion to  use  them.  I  am  indebted  to  the  following 
publishers,  likewise,  for  permission  to  reprint  certain 
verses  as  chapter  headings:  Messrs.  Houghton 
Mifflin  Company  ("Riders  of  the  Stars,"  by  Henry 


XIV 


PREFACE 


Herbert  Knibbs,  and  "Songs  of  Men,"  edited  by 
Robert  Frothingham) ;  the  Macmillan  Company 
("Cowboy  Songs,"  edited  by  Professor  John  A. 
Lomax);  and  Mr.  Richard  G.  Badger  ("Sun  and 
Saddle  Leather,"  by  Badger  Clark).  I  am  espe- 
cially indebted  to  Mr.  Roosevelt's  sisters,  Mrs.  W. 
S.  Cowles  and  Mrs.  Douglas  Robinson,  and  to  the 
Honorable  Henry  Cabot  Lodge  for  the  opportunity 
to  examine  the  unpublished  letters  of  Colonel  Roose- 
velt in  their  possession  and  to  reprint  excerpts  from 
them.  Through  the  courtesy  of  Mr.  Clarence  L.  Hay 
I  have  been  able  to  print  a  part  of  an  extraordinary 
letter  written  by  President  Roosevelt  to  Secretary 
Hay  in  1903;  through  the  courtesy  of  Messrs.  Har- 
per and  Brothers  I  have  been  permitted  to  make 
use  of  material  in  "Bill  Sewall's  story  of  T.  R.,"  by 
William  W.  Sewall,  and  in  "The  Boys'  Life  of 
Theodore  Roosevelt." 

Partly  from  books  and  letters,  partly  from  docu- 
ments and  old  newspapers,  I  have  gathered  bit  by 
bit  the  story  of  Roosevelt's  life  as  a  ranchman ;  but 
my  main  sources  of  material  have  been  the  men 
and  women  (scattered  now  literally  from  Maine  to 
the  State  of  Washington)  who  were  Roosevelt's 
companions  and  friends.  It  is  difficult  to  express 
adequately  my  gratitude  to  them  for  their  unfailing 
helpfulness;  their  willingness  to  let  themselves  be 
quizzed,  hour  after  hour,  and  to  answer,  in  some  cases, 
a  very  drumfire  of  importunate  letters;  above  all 
for  their  resistance,  to  what  must  at  times  have  been 
an  almost  overpowering  temptation,  to  "string  the 


PREFACE  XV 

tenderfoot."  They  took  my  inquisition  with  grave 
seriousness  and  gave  me  what  they  had  without 
reserve  and  without  elaboration. 

There  are  five  men  to  whom  I  am  peculiarly  in- 
debted: to  Mr.  Sylvanus  M.  Ferris  and  Mr.  A.  W. 
Merrifield,  who  were  Roosevelt's  ranch-partners  at 
the  Maltese  Cross  Ranch,  and  to  Mr.  William  W. 
Sewall,  of  Island  Falls,  Maine,  who  was  his  fore- 
man at  Elkhorn;  to  Mr.  Lincoln  A.  Lang,  of  Phil- 
adelphia, who,  having  the  seeing  eye,  has  helped  me 
more  than  any  one  else  to  visualize  the  men  and 
women  who  played  the  prominent  parts  in  the  life 
of  Medora;  and  to  Mr.  A.  T.  Packard,  of  Chicago, 
founder  and  editor  of  the  Bad  Lands  Cowboy,  who 
told  me  much  of  the  efforts  to  bring  law  and  order 
into  Billings  Count\'.  To  Mr.  Joseph  A.  Ferris  and 
Mrs.  Ferris;  to  Mr.  William  T.  Dantz,  of  Vineland, 
New  Jersey;  to  Mrs.  Margaret  Roberts  and  Dr. 
Victor  H.  Stickney,  both  of  Dickinson,  North  Da- 
kota; to  Mr.  George  Myers,  of  Townsend,  Montana; 
to  Mr.  John  Renter,  to  Mr.  John  C.  Fisher,  of  \^an- 
couver,  British  Columbia,  and  to  Mr.  John  Willis,  of 
Glasgow,  Montana,  Roosevelt 's  companion  of  many 
hunts,  I  am  indebted  to  a  scarcely  less  degree. 
Others  who  gave  me  important  assistance  were  Mr. 
Howard  Eaton,  of  Wolf,  Wyoming,  and  Mr.  *'Pete" 
Pellessier  of  Sheridan,  Wyoming;  Mr.  James  Har- 
mon, Mr.  Oren  Kendley,  Mr.  Schuyler  Lebo,  and 
Mr.  William  McCarts',  of  Medora,  North  Dakota; 
Mr.  William  G.  Lang,  of  Baker,  Montana;  Mr.  W. 
H.  Fortier,  of  Spokane,  Washington;  Mr.  Edward 


xvi  PREFACE 

A.  Allen  and  Mr.  George  F.  Will,  of  Bismarck,  North 
Dakota;  Mr.  J.  B.  Brubaker,  of  Terry;  Mr.  Laton 
A.  Huffman  and  Mr.  C.  W.  Butler,  of  Miles  City, 
Montana;  Dr.  Alexander  Lambert,  of  New  York 
City;  Dr.  Herman  Haupt,  of  Setauket,  New  York; 
the  Reverend  Edgar  Haupt,  of  St.  Paul,  Minnesota; 
Mr.  Alfred  White,  of  Dickinson;  Mr.  Dwight  Smith, 
of  Chicago;  Mrs.  Granville  Stuart,  of  Grantsdale, 
Montana;  Mr.  Frank  B.  Linderman,  of  Somers, 
Montana;  Mr.  C.  R.  Greer,  of  Hamilton,  Ohio; 
Mrs.  George  Sarchet,  of  New  England,  South  Da- 
kota; and  especially,  my  secretary,  Miss  Gisela  West- 
hoff. 

I  have  enjoyed  the  writing-man's  rarest  privilege 
—  the  assistance  of  wise  and  friendly  critics,  notably 
Professor  Albert  Bushnell  Hart,  of  Harvard;  Presi- 
dent John  Grier  Hibben,  of  Princeton;  and  Professor 
William  A.  Dunning,  of  Columbia,  who  generously 
consented  to  serve  as  a  committee  of  the  Roosevelt 
Memorial  Association  to  examine  my  manuscript; 
and  Dr.  John  A.  Lester,  of  the  Hill  School,  who  has 
read  the  proof  and  given  me  valuable  suggestions. 

To  all  these  friendly  helpers  my  gratitude  is  deep. 
My  warmest  thanks,  however,  are  due  Mr.  William 
Boyce  Thompson,  President  of  the  Roosevelt  Me- 
morial Association,  whose  quick  imagination  and 
effective  interest  made  possible  the  collection  of  the 
material  under  the  auspices  of  the  Association. 

H.  H. 

Fairfield,  Connecticut 
June  20,  1 92 1 


CONTENTS 

Introduction  xxv 

Chapter  I.  Arrival  —  Little  Missouri  —  A  game  coun- 
try —  Joe  Ferris  — •  The  trail  to  Chimney  Butte  — 
The  three  Canadians  —  The  buckskin  mare  3 

Chapter  II.  Gregor  Lang  —  The  Vine  family  —  The 
buffalo  hunt  —  The  argonauts  —  Politics  —  The 
passing  of  the  buffalo  —  Pursuit  —  The  charge  of 
the  buffalo  —  Broken  slumbers  —  Failure  —  "  It's 
dogged  that  does  it"  —  Roosevelt  makes  a  decision 
— ■  He  acquires  two  partners  —  He  kills  his  buffalo      18 

Chapter  III.  Jake  Maunders  —  The  "bad  men"  — 
Archie  the  precocious  —  County  organization  — 
The  graces  of  the  wicked  47 

Chapter  IV.  Marquis  de  Mores  —  Founding  of  Medora 

—  The  machinations  of  Maunders  result  in  blood- 
shed —  The  boom  begins  —  The  Marquis  in  busi- 
ness —  Roosevelt  returns  East  —  The  Marquis's 
idea  — •  Packard  — ■  Frank  Vine's  little  joke  —  Me- 
dora blossoms  forth  —  The  Ma.rquis  has  a  new  dream 

—  Joe  Ferris  acquires  a  store  —  Roosevelt  meets 
disaster  —  Invasion  — •  Roosevelt  turns  West  58 

Chapter  V.  "I  will  not  be  dictated  to!"  —  George 
Myers  —  Mrs.  Maddox  —  The  Maltese  Cross  — 
On  the  round-up  —  "  Hasten  forward  quickly  there ! " 

—  Trying  out  the  tenderfoot  —  A  letter  to  "  Bamie" 

—  The  emerald  biscuits  89 

Chapter  VI.  The  neighbors  —  Mrs.  Roberts  —  Hell- 
Roaring  Bill  Jones  —  A  good  man  for  "sassing"  — • 
The  master  of  Medora  —  The  Marquis's  stage-line 

—  The  road  to  Deadwood  —  The  Marquis  finds  a 
manager  108 


xviii  CONTENTS 

Chapter  VII.  The  gayety  of  Medora  —  Holocaust  — 
Influence  of  the  cowboy  —  Moulding  public  opin- 
ion—  The  "Bastile" — The  mass  meeting  —  The 
thieves  —  The  underground  railway  —  Helpless- 
ness of  the  righteous  —  Granville  Stuart  —  The 
three  argonauts  125 

Chapter  VIII.  The  new  ranch  —  The  bully  at  Mingus- 
ville  —  The  end  of  the  bully  —  Dakota  discovers 
Roosevelt  —  Stuart's  vigilantes  —  Sewall  and  Dow 
—  Mrs.  Lang — ^  Sewall  speaks  his  mind  —  Enter 
the  Marquis  148 

Chapter  IX.  "Dutch  Wannigan"  —  Political  sirens  — 

"Able  to  face  anything"  167 

Chapter  X.  The  start  for  the  Big  Horns  —  Roosevelt 
writes  home  —  A  letter  to  Lodge  —  Indians  — 
Camp  in  the  mountains  —  Roosevelt  gets  his  bear     175 

Chapter  XL  Rumblings  from  the  Marquis  —  The 
"stranglers"  — The  band  of  "Flopping  Bill" — 
Fifteen  marked  men  —  Maunders  the  discreet  — 
Sewall  receives  callers  189 

Chapter  XII.  "Medicine  Buttes"  —  Roosevelt  returns 
to  Elkhorn  —  Maunders  threatens  Roosevelt  — 
Packard's  stage-line  —  The  dress  rehearsal  —  An- 
other bubble  bursts  202 

Chapter  XIII.  Bleak  camping  —  Roosevelt  "starts  a 
reform"  —  The  deputy  marshal  —  Winter  activi- 
ties —  Breaking  broncos  —  A  tenderfoot  holds  his 
own  —  Wild  country  —  Mountain  sheep  —  The 
stockmen's  association  215 

Chapter  XIV.  Winter  misery  —  Return  to  Medora  — 
Illness  and  recovery  —  Mingusville  —  "He's  drunk 
and  on  the  shoot"  — The  seizure  of  Bill  235 

Chapter  XV.  The  spring  of  1885  —  Swimming  the  Lit- 


CONTENTS  XIX 

tie  Missouri  —  Ranching  companions  —  Golden  ex- 
pectations —  The  boss  of  the  Maltese  Cross  —  The 
buttermilk  —  Hospitality  at  Yule  —  Lang's  love  of 
debate  —  Nitch  comes  to  dine  248 

Chapter  XVI.  Cattle  torture  —  Trailing  cattle  — 
Roosevelt's  horsemanship  —  Gentling  the  Devil  — 
The  spring  round-up  —  The  first  encampment  — 
The  day's  work  —  Diversions  —  Profanity  — 
"Fight  or  be  friends"  266 

Chapter  XVII.  The  "mean"  horse  —  Ben  Butler  — 
Dr.  Stickney  —  Dinner  with  Mrs.  Cummins  —  The 
stampede  —  Roping  an  earl's  son  —  A  letter  to 
Lodge  —  Syl vane's  adventure  — •  Law  286 

Chapter  XVIII.  Sewall's  skepticism  —  Interview  at 
St.  Paul  —  The  women-folks  —  The  Elkhorn  "Out- 
fit" —  The  Wadsworths'  dog  305 

Chapter  XIX.  Medora  —  "Styles  in  the  Bad  Lands" 
—  The  coming  of  law  —  The  preachers  —  Packard's 
parson  —  Johnny  O'Hara  318 

Chapter  XX.  De  Mores  the  undaunted  —  Genealogy 
of  the  Marquis  —  Roosevelt  and  the  Marquis  — 
Hostility  —  The  first  clash  —  Indictment  of  the 
Marquis  —  The  Marquis's  trial  —  The  Marquis 
sees  red  —  Peace  331 

Chapter  XXI.  Red  man  and  white  —  Roosevelt's  ad- 
venture —  Good  Indian,  dead  Indian  —  Prairie 
fires  —  Sewall  delivers  a  lecture  —  The  testing  of 
Mrs.  Joe  —  Mrs.  Joe  takes  hold  350 

Chapter  XXII.  The  theft  of  the  boat  —  Redhead  Fin- 
negan  —  Preparations  for  pursuit  —  Departure  — 
"Hands  up!"  —  Capture  of  the  thieves  —  Ma- 
rooned —  Cross  country  to  jail  —  Arrival  in  Dick- 
inson —  "The  only  damn  fool"  365 


XX  CONTENTS 

Chapter  XXIII.  Medora's  first  election  —  The  celebra- 
tion —  Miles  City  meeting  —  Roosevelt's  cattle 
prospects  —  "His  upper  lip  is  stiff"  —  Completing 
"  Benton  "  —  The  summer  of  1886  —  Influence  over 
cowboys  —  "A  Big  Day"  —  Oratory  —  Roosevelt 
on  Americanism  —  "You  will  be  President"  387 

Chapter  XXIV.  A  troop  of  Rough  Riders  —  Premoni- 
tions of  trouble  —  The  hold-up  —  The  Coeur 
d'Alenes  —  Hunting  white  goats  —  John  Willis  — 
Elkhorn  breaks  up  —  Facing  east  412 

Chapter  XXV.  The  bad  winter  —  The  first  blizzard  — 
Destruction  of  the  cattle  —  The  spring  flood  —  The 
boneyard  429 

Chapter  XXVI.  Roosevelt's  losses  —  Morrill  vs.  Myers 
—  Roosevelt  takes  a  hand  —  A  country  of  ruins  — 
New  schemes  of  the  Marquis  —  The  fading  of  Me- 
dora  440 

Chapter  XXVII.  Bill  Jones  —  Old  friends  —  Seth  Bul- 
lock —  Death  of  the  Marquis  —  Roosevelt's  prog- 
ress —  Return  as  Governor  —  Medora  celebrates  — 
The  "cowboy  bunch"  —  Return  as  President  — 
Death  of  Bill  Jones  —  The  Bad  Lands  to-day  453 

Appendix  477 

Index  483 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Theodore  Roosevelt  on  the  Round-up,  1885  Frontispiece 

Photograph  by  Ingersoll,  Buffalo,  Minnesota 

Maltese  Cross  Ranch-House  16 

View  from  the  Door  of  the  Ranch-House  16 

The  Prairie  at  the  Edge  of  the  Bad  Lands  32 

Photograph  by  Holmboe,  Bismarck,  N.  D. 

"Broken  Country"  32 

Photograph  by  Holmboe 

Roosevelt  in  1883  48 

Medora  in  the  Winter  of  1883-84  48 

"Dutch  Wannigan"  and  Frank  O'Donald  64 

Scene  of  the  Killing  of  Riley  Luffsey  64 

Antoine  de  Vallombrosa,  Marquis  de  Mores  76 

By  courtesy  of  L.  A.  Huffman,  Miles  City,  Montana 

Sylvane  Ferris  92 

A.  W.  Merrifield  92 
The  Maltese  Cross  Ranch-House  as  it  was  when 

Roosevelt  lived  in  it  92 

Photograph  by  C.  R.  Greer,  Hamilton,  Ohio 

The  Ford  of  the  Little  Missouri  near  the  Maltese 

Cross  108 

A.  T.  Packard  130 

Office  of  the  "Bad  Lands  Cowboy"  130 

The  Little  Missouri  just  above  Elkhorn  150 

Elkhorn  Bottom  164 

A  Group  of  Bad  Lands  Citizens  176 

Roosevelt's  Brands  190 

From  the  Stockgrowers  Journal,  Miles  City 

Fantastic  Formation  at  Medicine  Buttes  ^q:? 


xxii  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Medicine  Buttes  202 
Poster  of  the  Marquis  de  Mores's  Deadwood  Stage- 
Line  212 

By  courtesy  of  the  North  Dakota  Historical  Society 

Theodore  Roosevelt  (1884)  236 

Elkhorn  Ranch  Buildings  from  the  River  252 

Photograph  by  Theodore  Roosevelt 

Gregor  Lang  262 

Mrs.  Lang  262 

The  Maltese  Cross  "  Outfit  "  276 

The  Maltese  Cross  "Chuck-Wagon"  276 

The  Scene  of  the  Stampede  296 

Elkhorn  Ranch-House  310 

Photograph  by  Theodore  Roosevelt 

Site  of  Elkhorn  (191 9)  310 

Hell-Roaring  Bill  Jones  320 

Bill  Williams's  Saloon  (1919)  320 

Hotel  de  Mores  332 

The  Abattoir  of  the  Marquis  de  Mores  332 

The  Bad  Lands  near  Medora  346 

Joseph  A.  Ferris  360 

Joe  Ferris's  Store  360 

WiLMOT  Dow  and  Theodore  Roosevelt  (1886)  370 

The  Piazza  at  Elkhorn  370 

Photograph  by  Theodore  Roosevelt 

Dow  and  Sewall  in  the  Boat  384 
Photograph  by  Theodore  Roosevelt 

Medora  in  191 9  402 
Ferris  and  Merrifield  on  the  Ruins  of  the  Shack 

at  Elkhorn  424 

Corrals  at  Elkhorn  424 

Photograph  by  Theodore  Roosevelt 

George  Myers  442 


ILLUSTRATIONS  xxiii 

The  Little  Missouri  at  Elkhorn  442 

Lincoln  Lang  456 

William  T.  Dantz  456 

Margaret  Roberts  456 

"Dutch  Wannigan"  456 

Joe  and  Sylvane  Ferris  and  Merrifield  (1919)  472 

Rough  Riders  Hotel  472 

Photographs  of  Bad  Lands  scenes,  unless  otherwise  indicated,  were 
made  by  the  author. 

The  end-paper  map  is  from  a  drawing  made  for  the  book  by  Lincoln  A. 
Lang.  The  town  of  Mingusville  is  indicated  on  it  under  its  present  name  — 
Wibaux. 


INTRODUCTION 

The  trail-tracer  of  Theodore  Roosevelt's  frontier 
life  has  given  the  members  of  this  Advisory  Com- 
mittee of  Three  of  the  Roosevelt  Memorial  Associa- 
tion the  opportunity  of  a  first  reading  of  his  book. 
The  duty  of  considering  the  manuscript  and  making 
suggestions  has  been  merged  in  the  pleasure  of  the 
revealing  account  of  that  young  man  who  forty 
years  ago  founded  a  personal  College  of  the  Plains 
in  raw  Dakota. 

Three  are  the  essentials  of  the  good  biographer  — 
historic  sense,  common  sense,  and  human  sense.  To 
the  mind  of  the  Committee,  Mr.  Hagedorn  has  put 
into  service  all  three  of  these  senses.  Every  writer 
of  history  must  make  himself  an  explorer  in  the 
materials  out  of  which  he  is  to  build.  To  the  usual 
outfit  of  printed  matter,  public  records,  and  private 
papers,  Mr.  Hagedorn  has  added  an  unexpected 
wealth  of  personal  memories  from  those  who  were 
part  of  Roosevelt's  first  great  adventure  in  life. 
The  book  is  a  thorough-going  historical  investiga- 
tion into  both  familiar  and  remote  sources. 

The  common  sense  of  the  work  is  in  its  choice  of 
the  things  that  counted  in  the  experience  of  the 
ranchman,  hunter,  and  citizen  of  a  tumultuous 
commonwealth.  All  the  essential  facts  are  here,  and 
also  the  incidents  which  gave  them  life.  Eveo  ^Dart 


xxvi  INTRODUCTION 

from  the  central  figure,  the  book  reconstructs  one  of 
the  most  fascinating  phases  of  American  history. 

That  is  not  all  that  is  expected  by  the  host  of 
Roosevelt's  friends.  They  want  the  man  —  the 
young  Harvard  graduate  and  New  York  clubman 
who  sought  the  broader  horizon  of  the  Far  West  in 
making,  and  from  it  drew  a  knowledge  of  his  kind 
which  became  the  bed-rock  of  his  later  career.  The 
writer's  personal  affection  for  and  understanding  of 
Roosevelt  have  illuminated  the  whole  story.  He 
paints  a  true  portrait  of  an  extraordinary  man  in  a 
picturesque  setting. 

William  A.  Dunning 
Albert  Bushnell  Hart 
John  Grier  Hibben 


ROOSEVELT   IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 


My  Friends,  I  never  can  sufficiently  express  the  obligations 
I  am  under  to  the  territory  of  Dakota,  for  it  was  here  that  I 
lived  a  number  of  years  in  a  ranch  house  in  the  cattle  country, 
and  I  regard  my  experience  during  those  years,  when  I  lived 
and  worked  with  my  own  fellow  ranchmen  on  what  was  then 
the  frontier,  as  the  most  important  educational  asset  of  all  my 
life.  It  is  a  mighty  good  thing  to  know  men,  not  from  looking 
at  them,  but  from  having  been  one  of  them.  When  you  have 
worked  with  them,  when  you  have  lived  with  them,  you  do 
not  have  to  wonder  how  they  feel,  because  you  feel  it  yourself. 
Every  now  and  then  I  am  amused  when  newspapers  in  the 
East  —  perhaps,  I  may  say,  not  always  friendly  to  me  — 
having  prophesied  that  I  was  dead  wrong  on  a  certain  issue, 
and  then  finding  out  that  I  am  right,  express  acid  wonder  how 
I  am  able  to  divine  how  people  are  thinking.  Well,  sometimes 
I  don't  and  sometimes  I  do;  but  when  I  do,  it  comes  simply 
from  the  fact  that  this  is  the  way  I  am  thinking  myself.  I 
know  how  the  man  that  works  with  his  hands  and  the  man  on 
the  ranch  are  thinking,  because  I  have  been  there  and  I  am 
thinking  that  way  myself.  It  is  not  that  I  divine  the  way  they 
are  thinking,  but  that  I  think  the  same  way. 

Theodore  Roosevelt 
Speech  at  Sioux  Falls 

September  3,  19 10. 


ROOSEVELT  IN  THE 
BAD  LANDS 

I 

Rainy  dark  or  firelight,  bacon  rind  or  pie, 

Livin'  is  a  luxury  that  don't  come  high; 

Oh,  be  happy  and  onruly  while  our  years  and  luck  allow. 

For  we  all  must  die  or  marry  less  than  forty  years  from  now! 

Badger  Clark 

The  train  rumbled  across  three  hundred  feet  of 
trestle  and  came  to  a  stop.  A  young  man,  slen- 
der, not  over- tall,  with  spectacles  and  a  moustache, 
descended  the  steps.  If  he  expected  that  his  foot, 
groping  below  the  bottom  step  in  the  blackness  for 
something  to  land  on,  would  find  a  platform,  he 
was  doomed  to  disappointment.  The  "  depot  "  at 
Little  Missouri  did  not  boast  a  platform.  The 
young  man  pulled  his  duffle-bag  and  gun-case  down 
the  steps;  somebody  waved  a  lantern;  the  train 
etirred,  gained  momentum,  and  was  gone,  having  ac- 
complished its  immediate  mission,  which  was  to  de- 
posit a  New  York  "  dude,"  politician  and  would-be 
hunter,  named  Theodore  Roosevelt,  in  the  Bad 
Lands  of  Dakota. 

The  time  was  three  o'clock  of  a  cool,  September 
morning,  and  the  place,  in  the  language  of  the  Bad 
Lands,  was  "  dark  as  the  inside  of  a  caow."  If 
the  traveler  from  afar  had  desired  illumination  and 
a  reception  committee,  he  should  have  set  his  arrival 


4  ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

not  for  September  7th,  but  for  September  6th. 
Twenty-four  hours  previous,  it  happened,  the 
citizens  of  Little  Missouri  had,  in  honor  of  a  dis- 
tinguished party  which  was  on  its  way  westward  to 
celebrate  the  completion  of  the  road,  amply  antic- 
ipated any  passion  for  entertainment  which  the 
passengers  on  the  Overland  might  have  possessed. 
As  the  engine  came  to  a  stop,  a  deafening  yell 
pierced  the  night,  punctuated  with  pistol-shots. 
Cautious  investigation  revealed  figures  dancing 
wildly  around  a  bonfire;  and  the  passengers  re- 
membered the  worst  they  had  ever  heard  about 
Indians.  The  flames  shot  upward,  setting  the 
shadows  fantastically  leaping  up  the  precipitous 
bluffs  and  among  the  weird  petrifactions  of  a  devil's 
nightmare  that  rimmed  the  circle  of  flaring  light.  A 
man  with  a  gun  in  his  hand  climbed  aboard  the 
train  and  made  his  way  to  the  dining-car,  yelling 
for  "  cow-grease,"  and  demanding,  at  the  least,  a 
ham-bone.  It  took  the  burliest  of  his  comrades  to 
transport  the  obstreperous  one  back  to  solid  earth 
just  as  the  train  moved  out. 

There  was  nothing  so  theatrical  awaiting  Theo- 
dore Roosevelt.  The  "  depot  "  was  deserted. 
Roosevelt  dragged  his  belongings  through  the 
sagebrush  toward  a  huge  black  building  looming 
northeastward  through  the  night,  and  hammered 
on  the  door  until  the  proprietor  appeared,  muttering 
curses. 

The  face  that  Roosevelt  saw,  in  the  light  of  a 
smoky  lantern,  was  not  one  to  inspire  confidence  in 


ARRIVAL  5 

a  tenderfoot  on  a  dark  night.  The  features  were 
those  of  a  man  who  might  have  been  drinking,  with 
inconsiderable  interruptions,  for  a  very  long  time. 
He  was  short  and  stout  and  choleric,  with  a  wiry 
moustache  under  a  red  nose;  and  seemed  to  be 
distinctly  under  the  impression  that  Roosevelt  had 
done  something  for  which  he  should  apologize. 

He  led  the  way  upstairs.  Fourteen  beds  were 
scattered  about  the  loft  which  was  the  second  story 
of  the  Pyramid  Park  Hotel,  and  which,  Roosevelt 
heard  subsequently,  was  known  as  the  "  bull-pen." 
One  was  unoccupied.  He  accepted  it  without  a 
murmur. 

What  the  thirteen  hardened  characters  who  were 
his  roommates  said  next  morning,  when  they  dis- 
covered the  "  Eastern  punkin-lily  "  which  had 
blossomed  in  their  midst,  is  lost  to  history.  It  was 
unquestionably  frank,  profane,  and  unwashed.  He 
was,  in  fact,  not  a  sight  to  awaken  sympathy  in 
the  minds  of  such  inhabitants  as  Little  Missouri 
possessed.  He  had  just  recovered  from  an  attack 
of  cholera  morbus,  and  though  he  had  written  his 
mother  from  Chicago  that  he  was  already  "  feeling 
like  a  fighting-cock,"  the  marks  of  his  illness  were 
still  on  his  face.  Besides,  he  wore  glasses,  which, 
as  he  later  discovered,  were  considered  in  the  Bad 
Lands  as  a  sign  of  a  "  defective  moral  character." 

It  was  a  world  of  strange  and  awful  beauty  into 
which  Roosevelt  stepped  as  he  emerged  from  the 
dinginess  of  the  ramshackle  hotel  into  the  crisp 
autumn  morning.    Before  him  lay  a  dusty,  sage- 


6  ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

brush  flat  walled  in  on  three  sides  by  scarred  and 
precipitous  clay  buttes.  A  trickle  of  sluggish  water 
in  a  wide  bed,  partly  sand  and  partly  baked  gumbo, 
oozed  beneath  steep  banks  at  his  back,  swung 
sharply  westward,  and  gave  the  flat  on  the  north 
a  fringe  of  dusty-looking  cottonwoods,  thirstily 
drinking  the  only  source  of  moisture  the  country 
seemed  to  aff^ord.  Directly  across  the  river,  beyond 
another  oval-shaped  piece  of  bottom-land,  rose  a 
steep  bluff,  deeply  shadowed  against  the  east,  and 
south  of  it  stretched  in  endless  succession  the 
seamed  ranges  and  fantastic  turrets  and  cupolas 
and  flying  buttresses  of  the  Bad  Lands. 

It  was  a  region  of  weird  shapes  garbed  in  barbaric 
colors,  gray-olive  striped  with  brown,  lavender 
striped  with  black,  chalk  pinnacles  capped  with 
flaming  scarlet.  French-Canadian  voyageurs,  a  cen- 
tury previous,  finding  the  weather-washed  ravines 
wicked  to  travel  through,  spoke  of  them  as  mau- 
vaises  terres  pour  traverser,  and  the  name  clung.  The 
whole  region,  it  was  said,  had  once  been  the  bed 
of  a  great  lake,  holding  in  its  lap  the  rich  clays 
and  loams  which  the  rains  carried  down  into  it. 
The  passing  of  ages  brought  vegetation,  and  the 
passing  of  other  ages  turned  that  vegetation  into 
coal.  Other  deposits  settled  over  the  coal.  At  last 
this  vast  lake  found  an  outlet  in  the  Missouri. 
The  wear  and  wash  of  the  waters  cut  in  time  through 
the  clay,  the  coal,  and  the  friable  limestone  of 
succeeding  deposits,  creating  ten  thousand  water- 
courses bordered  by  precipitous  bluffs  and  buttes, 


LITTLE  MISSOURI  7 

which  every  storm  gashed  and  furrowed  anew.  On 
the  tops  of  the  flat  buttes  was  rich  soil  and  in  count- 
less pleasant  valleys  were  green  pastures,  but 
there  were  regions  where  for  miles  only  sagebrush 
and  stunted  cedars  lived  a  starved  existence.  Bad 
lands  they  were,  for  man  or  beast,  and  Bad  Lands 
they  remained. 

The  "  town  "  of  Little  Missouri  consisted  of  a 
group  of  primitive  buildings  scattered  about  the 
shack  which  did  duty  as  a  railroad  station.  The 
Pyramid  Park  Hotel  stood  immediately  north  of 
the  tracks ;  beside  it  stood  the  one-story  palace  of  sin 
of  which  one,  who  shall,  for  the  purposes  of  this 
story,  be  known  as  Bill  Williams,  was  the  owner, 
and  one  w^ho  shall  be  knowm  as  Jess  Hogue,  the  evil 
genius.  South  of  the  track  a  comical,  naive  Swede 
named  Johnny  Nelson  kept  a  store  when  he  was  not 
courting  Katie,  the  hired  girl  in  Mrs.  McGeeney's 
boarding-house  next  door,  or  gambling  away  his 
receipts  under  Hogue's  crafty  guidance.  Directly 
to  the  east,  on  the  brink  of  the  river,  the  railroad 
section-foreman,  Fitzgerald,  had  a  shack  and  a 
wife  who  quarreled  unceasingly  with  her  neighbor, 
Mrs.  McGeeney.  At  a  corresponding  place  on  the 
other  side  of  the  track,  a  villainous  gun-fighter 
named  Maunders  lived  (as  far  as  possible)  by  his 
neighbors'  toil.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  west  of  him, 
in  a  grove  of  cottonwood  trees,  stood  a  group  of 
gray,  log  buildings  known  as  the  "  cantonment," 
where  a  handful  of  soldiers  had  been  quartered 
under  a  major  named  Coomba,  to  guard  the  con- 


8  ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

struction  crews  on  the  railroad  from  the  attacks  of 
predatory  Indians  seeking  game  in  their  ancient 
hunting-grounds.  A  few  huts  in  the  sagebrush,  a 
half-dozen  miners'  shacks  under  the  butte  to  the 
south,  and  one  or  two  rather  pretentious  frame 
houses  in  process  of  construction  completed  what 
was  Little  Missouri;  but  Little  Missouri  was  not 
the  only  outpost  of  civilization  at  this  junction  of 
the  railroad  and  the  winding,  treacherous  river.  On 
the  eastern  bank,  on  the  flat  under  the  bluff  that 
six  months  previous  had  been  a  paradise  for  jack- 
rabbits,  a  few  houses  and  a  few  men  were  attempt- 
ing to  prove  to  the  world,  amid  a  chorus  of  hammers, 
that  they  constituted  a  town  and  had  a  future. 
The  settlement  called  itself  Medora.  The  air  was 
full  of  vague  but  wonderful  stories  of  a  French 
marquis  who  was  building  it  and  who  owned  it, 
body  and  soul. 

Roosevelt  had  originally  been  turned  in  the 
direction  of  the  Bad  Lands  by  a  letter  in  one  of  the 
New  York  papers  by  a  man  from  Pittsburgh  named 
Howard  Eaton  and  the  corroborative  enthusiasm 
of  a  high-spirited  naval  officer  named  Gorringe, 
whose  appeals  for  an  adequate  navy  brought 
Roosevelt  exuberantly  to  his  side.  Gorringe  was  a 
man  of  wide  interests  and  abilities,  who  managed,  to 
a  degree  mysterious  to  a  layman,  to  combine  his 
naval  activities  with  the  work  of  a  consulting  en- 
gineer, the  promotion  of  a  shipyard,  and  the  forma- 
tion of  a  syndicate  to  carry  on  a  cattle  business  in 
Dakota.   He  had   gained   international   notice   by 


A  GAME  COUNTRY  9 

his  skill  in  bringing  the  obelisk  known  as  "  Cleo- 
patra's Needle  "  from  Alexandria  to  New  York, 
and  had  six  months  previous  flared  before  the 
public  in  front-page  headlines  by  reason  of  a  sharp 
controversy  with  the  Secretary  of  the  Navy,  which 
had  resulted  in  Gorringe's  resignation. 

Roosevelt  had  said  that  he  wanted  to  shoot 
buffalo  while  there  were  still  buffalo  left  to  shoot,  and 
Gorringe  had  suggested  that  he  go  to  Little  Missouri. 
That  villainous  gateway  to  the  Bad  Lands  was,  it 
seems,  the  headquarters  for  a  motley  collection  of 
guides  and  hunters,  some  of  them  experts,^  the 
majority  of  them  frauds,  who  were  accustomed  to 
take  tourists  and  sportsmen  for  a  fat  price  into  the 
heart  of  the  fantastic  and  savage  country.  The 
region  was  noted  for  game.  It  had  been  a  great 
winter  range  for  buffalo;  and  elk,  mountain-sheep, 
blacktail  and  whitetail  deer,  antelope  and  beaver 
were  plentiful;  now  and  then  even  an  occasional 
bear  strayed  to  the  river's  edge  from  God  knows 
whence.  Jake  Maunders,  with  his  sinister  face,  was 
the  center  of  information  for  tourists,  steering  the 
visitor  in  the  direction  of  game  by  day  and  of  Bill 
Williams,  Jess  Hogue,  and  their  crew  of  gamblers 
and  confidence  men  by  night.  Gorringe  had  planned 
to  go  with  Roosevelt  himself,  but  at  the  last  moment 
had  been  forced  to  give  up  the  trip.  He  advised 
Roosevelt  to  let  one  of  the  men  representing  his  own 

*  Roosevelt  tells,  in  his  Hunting  Trips  of  a  Ranchman,  of  the 
most  notable  of  these,  a  former  scout  and  Indian  fighter  named 
"  Vic  "  Smith,  whose  exploits  were  prodigious. 


10         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

interests  find  him  a  guide,  especially  the  Vines, 
father  and  son. 

Roosevelt  found  that  Vine,  the  father,  was 
none  other  than  the  crusty  old  party  who  had 
reluctantly  admitted  him  at  three  o'clock  that 
morning  to  the  Pyramid  Park  Hotel.  The  Captain, 
as  he  was  called,  refused  to  admit  that  he  knew 
any  one  who  would  undertake  the  ungrateful 
business  of  "  trundling  a  tenderfoot  "  on  a  buffalo 
hunt;  and  suggested  that  Roosevelt  consult  his 
son  Frank. 

Frank  Vine  turned  out  to  be  far  less  savage  than 
his  father,  but  quite  as  bibulous,  a  rotund  hail- 
fellow-well-met,  oily  as  an  Esquimau,  with  round, 
twinkling  eyes  and  a  reservoir  of  questionable 
stories  which  he  tapped  on  the  slightest  provoca- 
tion. The  guidebook  called  him  "  the  innkeeper," 
which  has  a  romantic  connotation  not  altogether 
true  to  the  hard  facts  of  Frank's  hostelry,  and  spoke 
of  him  as  "  a  jolly,  fat,  rosy-cheeked  young  man, 
brimming  over  with  animal  spirits."  He  habitually 
wore  a  bright  crimson  mackina'w  shirt,  tied  at  the 
neck  with  a  gaudy  silk  handkerchief,  and  fringed 
buckskin  trousers,  which  Roosevelt,  who  had  a 
weakness  for  "  dressing  up,"  no  doubt  envied  him. 
He  was,  it  seemed,  the  most  obliging  soul  in  the 
world,  being  perfectly  willing  to  do  anything  for 
anybody  at  any  time  except  to  be  honest,  to  be 
sober,  or  to  work;  and  agreed  to  find  Roosevelt  a 
guide,  suggesting  that  Joe  Ferris,  who  was  barn 
superintendent  for  him  at  the  Cantonment  and 


JOE  FERRIS  II 

occasionally  served  as  a  guide  for  tourists  who 
came  to  see  "  Pyramid  Park,"  might  be  persuaded 
to  find  him  a  buffalo. 

Frank  guided  his  "  tenderfoot  "  to  the  Post 
store,  of  which  he  was  manager.  It  was  a  long  log 
building,  one  fourth  used  for  trading  and  the  rest 
for  storage.  Single  window  lights,  set  into  the  wall 
here  and  there,  gave  the  place  the  air  of  perpetual 
dusk  which,  it  was  rumored,  was  altogether  neces- 
sary to  cloak  Frank's  peculiar  business  methods. 

They  found  Joe  Ferris  in  the  store.  That  in- 
dividual turned  out  to  be  as  harmless  a  looking 
being  as  any  "down-East"  farmer  —  a  short, 
stockily  built  young  fellow  of  Roosevelt's  own  age, 
with  a  moustache  that  drooped  and  a  friendly  pair 
of  eyes.  He  did  not  accept  the  suggestion  that  he 
take  Roosevelt  on  a  buffalo  hunt,  without  debate. 
The  "  dude  "  from  the  East  did  not,  in  fact,  look  at 
first  sight  as  though  he  would  be  of  much  comfort 
on  a  hunt.  His  large,  round  glasses  gave  him  a  studi- 
ous look  that  to  a  frontiersman  was  ominous.  Joe 
Ferris  agreed  at  last  to  help  the  tenderfoot  find  a 
buffalo,  but  he  agreed  with  reluctance  and  the 
deepest  misgivings. 

Ferris  and  Frank  Vine,  talking  the  matter  over, 
decided  that  the  camp  of  Gregor  Lang  on  Little 
Cannonball  Creek  fifty  miles  up  the  river,  was  the 
logical  place  to  use  as  headquarters  for  the  hunt. 
Gregor  Lang,  it  happened,  had  just  left  town 
homeward  bound  with  a  wagon-load  of  supplies.  He 
was   a   Scotchman,   who   had    been   a   prosperous 


12         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

distiller  in  Ireland,  until  in  a  luckless  moment  the 
wife  of  his  employer  had  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  was  wicked  to  manufacture  a  product  which, 
when  taken  in  sufficient  quantities,  was  instru- 
mental in  sending  people  to  hell ;  and  had  prevailed 
on  her  husband  to  close  the  distillery.  What  Frank 
Vine  said  in  describing  Gregor  Lang  to  Roosevelt 
is  lost  to  history.  Frank  had  his  own  reason  for  not 
loving  Lang. 

Ferris  had  a  brother  Sylvane,  who  was  living 
with  his  partner,  A.  W.  Merrifield,  in  a  cabin  seven 
or  eight  miles  south  of  Little  Missouri,  and  sug- 
gested that  they  spend  the  night  with  him.  Late 
that  afternoon,  Joe  and  his  buckboard,  laden  to 
overflowing,  picked  Roosevelt  up  at  the  hotel  and 
started  for  the  ford  a  hundred  yards  north  of  the 
trestle.  On  the  brink  of  the  bluff  they  stopped. 
The  hammer  of  Roosevelt's  Winchester  was  broken. 
In  Ferris's  opinion,  moreover,  the  Winchester  it- 
self was  too  light  for  buffalo,  and  Joe  thought  it 
might  be  a  good  scheme  to  borrow  a  hammer  and 
a  buffalo-gun  from  Jake  Maunders. 

Jake  was  at  home.  He  was  not  a  reassuring 
person  to  meet,  nor  one  of  whom  a  cautious  man 
would  care  to  ask  many  favors.  His  face  was 
villainous  and  did  not  pretend  to  be  anything  else. 
He  was  glad  to  lend  the  hammer  and  the  gun,  he 
said. 

September  days  had  a  way  of  being  baking  hot 
along  the  Little  Missouri,  and  even  in  the  late 
afternoon  the  air  was  usually  like  a  blast  from  a 


THE  TRAIL  TO  CHIMNEY  BUTTE         13 

furnace.  But  the  country  which  appeared  stark 
and  dreadful  under  the  straight  noon  sun,  at  dusk 
took  on  a  magic  more  enticing,  it  seemed,  because 
it  grew  out  of  such  forbidding  desolation.  The 
buttes,  protruding  like  buttresses  from  the  ranges 
that  bordered  the  river,  threw  lengthening  shadows 
across  the  grassy  draws.  Each  gnarled  cedar  in 
the  ravines  took  on  color  and  personality.  The 
blue  of  the  sky  grew  soft  and  deep. 

They  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  butte  where  the  road 
passed  between  gray  cliffs,  then  steeply  down  on  the 
other  side  into  the  cool  greenness  of  a  timbered 
bottom  where  the  grass  was  high  underfoot  and  the 
cottonwoods  murmured  and  twinkled  overhead. 
They  passed  a  log  ranch-house  known  as  the 
"  Custer  Trail,"  in  memory  of  the  ill-fated  expedi- 
tion which  had  camped  in  the  adjacent  flat  seven 
years  before.  Howard  Eaton  and  his  brothers  lived 
there  and  kept  open  house  for  a  continuous  stream  of 
Eastern  sportsmen.  A  mile  beyond,  they  forded  the 
river;  a  quarter-mile  farther  on,  they  forded  it 
again,  passed  through  a  belt  of  cottonwoods  into 
a  level  valley  where  the  buttes  receded,  leaving  a 
wide  stretch  of  bottom-lands  dominated  by  a  soli- 
tary peak  known  as  Chimney  Butte,  and  drew  up 
in  front  of  a  log  cabin. 

Sylvane  Ferris  and  Bill  Merrifield  were  there  and 
greeted  Roosevelt  without  noticeable  enthusiasm. 
They  admitted  later  that  they  thought  he  was 
"just  another  Easterner,"  and  they  did  not  like  his 
glasses  at  all.   They  were  both  lithe,  slender  young 


14         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

fellows,  wiry  and  burnt  by  the  sun,  Sylvane  twenty 
four  or  thereabouts,  Merrifield  four  years  his  senior. 
Sylvane  was  shy  with  a  boyish  shyness  that  had  a 
way  of  slipping  into  good-natured  grins;  Merrifield, 
the  shrewder  and  more  mature  of  the  two,  was  by 
nature  reserved  and  reticent.  They  did  not  have 
much  to  say  to  the  "  dude  "  from  New  York  un- 
til supper  in  the  dingy,  one-room  cabin  of  cotton- 
wood  logs,  set  on  end,  gave  way  to  cards,  and  in 
the  excitement  of  "  Old  Sledge  "  the  ice  began  to 
break.  A  sudden  fierce  squawking  from  the  direction 
of  the  chicken-shed,  abutting  the  cabin  on  the  west, 
broke  up  the  game  and  whatever  restraint  remained ; 
for  they  all  piled  out  of  the  house  together,  hunting 
the  bobcat  which  had  raided  the  roost.  They  did 
not  find  the  bobcat,  but  all  sense  of  strangeness 
was  gone  when  they  returned  to  the  house,  and 
settling  down  on  bunks  and  boxes  opened  their 
lives  to  each  other. 

The  Ferrises  and  Merrifield  were  Canadians  who 
had  drifted  west  from  their  home  in  New  Brunswick 
and,  coming  out  to  the  Dakota  frontier  two  years 
previous  because  the  Northern  Pacific  Railroad 
carried  emigrants  westward  for  nothing,  had  re- 
mained there  because  the  return  journey  cost  five 
cents  a  mile.  They  worked  the  first  summer  as 
section  hands.  Then,  in  the  autumn,  being  back- 
woodsmen, they  took  a  contract  to  cut  cordwood, 
and  all  that  winter  worked  together  up  the  river  at 
Sawmill  Bottom,  cutting  timber.  But  Merrifield 
was  an  inveterate  and  skillful  hunter,  and  while 


THE  THREE  CANADIANS  15 

Joe  took  to  doing  odd  jobs,  and  Sylvane  took  to 
driving  mules  at  the  Cantonment,  Merrifield  scoured 
the  prairie  for  buffalo  and  antelope  and  crept 
through  the  underbrush  of  countless  coulees  for 
deer.  For  two  years  he  furnished  the  Northern 
Pacific  dining-cars  with  venison  at  five  cents  a 
pound.  He  was  a  sure  shot,  absolutely  fearless, 
and  with  a  debonair  gayety  that  found  occasional 
expression  in  odd  pranks.  Once,  riding  through  the 
prairie  near  the  railroad,  and  being  thirsty  and  not 
relishing  a  drink  of  the  alkali  water  of  the  Little 
Missouri,  he  flagged  an  express  with  his  red  hand- 
kerchief, stepped  aboard,  helped  himself  to  ice-water, 
and  rode  off  again,  to  the  speechless  indignation  of 
the  conductor. 

The  three  men  had  prospered  in  a  small  way,  and 
while  Joe  turned  banker  and  recklessly  loaned  the 
attractive  but  unstable  Johnny  Nelson  a  hundred 
dollars  to  help  him  to  his  feet,  Sylvane  and  Merri- 
field bought  a  few  horses  and  a  few  head  of  cattle, 
took  on  shares  a  hundred  and  fifty  more,  belonging 
to  an  old  reprobate  of  a  ranchman  named  Wads- 
worth  and  a  partner  of  his  named  Halley,  and, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  bold  peak  that  was  a  land- 
mark for  miles  around,  started  a  ranch  which  they 
called  the  "  Chimney  Butte,"  and  every  one  else 
called,  after  their  brand,  the  "  Maltese  Cross."  A 
man  named  Bly  who  had  kept  a  hotel  in  Bismarck, 
at  a  time  when  Bismarck  was  wild,  and  had  drifted 
west  with  the  railroad,  was,  that  season,  cutting 
logs  for  ties  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  south  in  the 


i6         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Short  Pine  Hills.  He  attempted  to  float  the  timber 
down  the  river,  with  results  disastrous  to  his 
enterprise,  but  beneficial  to  the  boys  at  Chimney 
Butte.  A  quantity  of  logs  perfectly  adapted  for 
building  purposes  stacked  themselves  at  a  bend  not 
an  eighth  of  a  mile  from  the  center  of  their  range. 
The  boys  set  them  on  end,  stockade-fashion,  packed 
the  chinks,  threw  on  a  mud  roof,  and  called  it 
"  home." 

Lang's  cow-camp,  which  was  to  be  the  starting- 
point  for  the  buffalo  hunt,  was  situated  some  forty- 
five  miles  to  the  south,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Pretty 
Buttes.  Merrifield  and  the  Ferrises  had  spent  some 
months  there  the  previous  winter,  staying  with  a 
half-breed  named  0' Donald  and  a  German  named 
Jack  Reuter,  known  to  the  countryside  as  "  Dutch 
Wannigan,"  who  had  built  the  rough  log  cabin  and 
used  it  as  their  headquarters.  Buffalo  at  that  time 
had  been  plentiful  there,  and  the  three  Canadians 
had  shot  them  afoot  and  on  horseback,  now  and 
then  teasing  one  of  the  lumbering  hulks  into  charg- 
ing, for  the  excitement  of  the  "  close  shave  "  the 
maddened  beast  would  provide.  If  there  were 
buffalo  anywhere,  there  would  be  buffalo  somewhere 
near  Pretty  Buttes. 

Joe,  who  was  of  a  sedentary  disposition,  decided 
that  they  would  make  the  long  trip  south  in  the 
buckboard,  but  Roosevelt  protested.  He  saw  the 
need  of  the  buckboard  to  carry  the  supplies,  but  he 
saw  no  reason  why  he  should  sit  in  it  all  day.  He 
asked  for  an  extra  saddle  horse. 


MALTESE  CROSS  RANCH-HOUSE 


VIEW  FROM  THE  DOOR  OF  THE  MALTESE  CROSS  RANCH-HOUSE 


THE  BUCKSKIN  MARE  17 

The  three  declared  they  did  not  have  an  extra 
saddle  horse. 

Roosevelt  pleaded.  The  three  Canadians  there- 
upon became  suspicious  and  announced  more  firmly 
than  before  that  they  did  not  have  an  extra  saddle 
horse. 

Roosevelt  protested  fervidly  that  he  could  not 
possibly  sit  still  in  a  buckboard,  driving  fifty  miles. 

"  By  gosh,  he  wanted  that  saddle  horse  so  bad," 
said  Joe  a  long  time  after,  "  that  we  were  afraid  to 
let  him  have  it.  Why,  we  didn't  know  him  from 
Job's  off  ox.  We  didn't  know  but  what  he'd  ride 
away  with  it.  But,  say,  he  wanted  that  horse  so 
blamed  bad,  that  when  he  see  we  weren't  going  to 
let  him  have  it,  he  offered  to  buy  it  for  cash." 

That  proposal  sounded  reasonable  to  three  cau- 
tious frontiersmen,  and,  before  they  all  turned  into 
their  bunks  that  night,  Roosevelt  had  acquired  a 
buckskin  mare  named  Nell,  and  therewith  his  first 
physical  hold  on  the  Bad  Lands. 


II 

It  rains  here  when  it  rains  an'  it's  hot  here  when  it's  hot. 

The  real  folks  is  real  folks  which  city  folks  is  not. 

The  dark  is  as  the  dark  was  before  the  stars  was  made; 

The  sun  is  as  the  sun  was  before  God  thought  of  shade; 

An'  the  prairie  an'  the  butte-tops  an'  the  long  winds,  when  they  blow, 

Is  like  the  things  what  Adam  knew  on  his  birthday,  long  ago. 

From  Medora  Nights 

Joe  In  the  buckboard  and  Roosevelt  on  his  new 
acquisition  started  south  at  dawn. 

The  road  to  Lang's  —  or  the  trail  rather,  for  it 
consisted  of  two  wheel-tracks  scarcely  discernible 
on  the  prairie  grass  and  only  to  be  guessed  at  in  the 
sagebrush  —  lay  straight  south  across  a  succession 
of  flats,  now  wide,  now  narrow,  cut  at  frequent 
intervals  by  the  winding,  wood-fringed  Little  Mis- 
souri ;  a  region  of  green  slopes  and  rocky  walls  and 
stately  pinnacles  and  luxuriant  acres.  Twenty  miles 
south  of  the  Maltese  Cross,  they  topped  a  ridge  of 
buttes  and  suddenly  came  upon  what  might  well  have 
seemed,  in  the  hot  mist  of  noonday,  a  billowy  ocean, 
held  by  some  magic  in  suspension.  From  the  trail, 
which  wound  along  a  red  slope  of  baked  clay  falling 
at  a  sharp  angle  into  a  witch's  cauldron  of  clefts 
and  savage  abysses,  the  Bad  Lands  stretched  south- 
ward to  the  uncertain  horizon.  The  nearer  slopes 
were  like  yellow  shores  jutting  into  lavender  waters. 

West  of  Middle  Butte,  that  loomed  like  a  purple 
island  on  their  left,  they  took  a  short  cut  across  the 
big  Ox  Bow  from  the  mouth  of  Bullion  Creek  on  the 


GREGOR  LANG  19 

one  side  to  the  mouth  of  Spring  Creek  on  the  other, 
then  followed  the  course  of  the  Little  Missouri 
southward  once  more.  They  met  the  old  Fort  Keogh 
trail  where  it  crossed  the  river  by  the  ruins  of  the 
stage  station,  and  for  three  or  four  miles  followed  its 
deep  ruts  westward,  then  turned  south  again.  They 
came  at  last  to  a  crossing  where  the  sunset  glowed 
bright  in  their  faces  along  the  bed  of  a  shallow  creek 
that  emptied  into  the  Little  Missouri.  The  creek 
was  the  Little  Cannonball.  In  a  cluster  of  hoary 
cottonw^oods,  fifty  yards  from  the  point  where  creek 
and  river  met,  they  found  Lang's  cabin. 

Lang  turned  out  to  be  stocky,  blue-eyed,  and 
aggressively  Scotch,  wearing  spectacles  and  a  pair 
of  "  mutton-chop  "  whiskers.  He  had  himself  just 
arrived,  having  come  from  town  by  the  longer 
trail  over  the  prairie  to  the  west  in  order  to  avoid 
the  uncertain  river  crossings  which  had  a  way  of 
proving  fatal  to  a  heavily  laden  wagon.  His  wel- 
come was  hearty.  With  him  was  a  boy  of  sixteen, 
fair-haired  and  blue-eyed,  whom  he  introduced  as 
his  son  Lincoln.  The  boy  remembered  ever  after 
the  earnestness  of  the  tenderfoot's  ''Delighted  to 
meet  you." 

Roosevelt  talked  with  Gregor  Lang  until  mid- 
night. The  Scotchman  was  a  man  of  education 
with  views  of  his  own  on  life  and  politics,  and  if  he 
was  more  than  a  little  dogmatic,  he  was  unquestion- 
ably sincere. 

He  had  an  interesting  story  to  tell.   A  year  or 


20         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

less  ago  Henry  Gorringe,  Abram  S.  Hewitt,  of  New 
York,  and  a  noted  London  financier  named  Sir 
John  Pender,  who  had  been  instrumental  in  laying 
the  first  successful  Atlantic  cable,  had,  in  the  course 
of  a  journey  through  the  Northwest,  become  inter- 
ested in  the  cattle  business  and,  in  May,  1883, 
bought  the  Cantonment  buildings  at  Little  Missouri 
with  th,e  object  of  making  them  the  headquarters 
of  a  trading  corporation  which  they  called  the 
Little  Missouri  Land  and  Stock  Company.  The 
details  they  left  to  the  enterprising  naval  officer 
who  had  proposed  the  scheme.  Gorringe  had  mean- 
while struck  up  a  friendship  with  Frank  Vine.  This 
was  not  unnatural,  for  Frank  was  the  social  center 
of  Little  Missouri  and  was  immensely  popular. 
What  is  almost  incredible,  however,  is  that,  blinded 
evidently  by  Frank's  social  graces,  he  took  the  genial 
and  slippery  post-trader  into  the  syndicate,  and 
appointed  him  superintendent.  It  w^as  possibly  be- 
cause he  did  not  concur  altogether  in  this  selection 
that  Pender  sent  Gregor  Lang,  who,  owing  to  Lady 
Pender's  scruples,  was  without  employment,  to  re- 
port to  Gorringe  in  New  York  and  then  proceed  to 
Little  Missouri. 

What  a  somewhat  precise  Scotch  Presbyterian 
thought  of  that  gathering-place  of  the  wicked, 
the  Presbyterian  himself  did  not  see  fit  to  divulge. 
He  established  himself  at  the  Cantonment,  set  to 
work  with  European  thoroughness  to  find  out  all 
there  was  to  find  out  about  the  cattle  business,  and 
quietly  studied   the  ways  of  Frank  Vine.   Those 


THE  VINE  FAMILY  21 

ways  were  altogether  extraordinary.  Where  he 
had  originally  come  from  no  one  exactly  knew.  His 
father,  whom  the  new  superintendent  promptly 
established  as  manager  of  the  Pyramid  Park 
Hotel,  had  been  a  Missouri  steamboat  captain  and 
was  regarded  far  and  wide  as  a  terror.  He  was,  in 
fact,  a  walking  arsenal.  He  had  a  way  of  collecting 
his  bills  wuth  a  cavalry  saber,  and  once,  during  the 
course  of  a  "  spree,"  hearing  that  a  great  Irishman 
named  Jack  Sawyer  had  beaten  up  his  son  Frank, 
was  seen  emerging  from  the  hotel  in  search  of  the 
oppressor  of  his  offspring  with  a  butcher-knife  in 
his  boot,  a  six-shooter  at  his  belt,  and  a  rifle  in  his 
hand.  Frank  himself  was  less  of  a  buccaneer  and 
was  conspicuous  because  he  was  practically  the  only 
man  in  Little  Missouri  who  did  not  carry  arms.  He 
was  big-hearted  and  not  without  charm  in  his  non- 
chalant disregard  of  the  moralities,  but  there  was 
no  truth  in  him,  and  he  was  so  foul-mouthed  that  he 
became  the  model  for  the  youth  of  Little  Missouri, 
the  ideal  of  what  a  foul-mouthed  reprobate  should 
be. 

"  Frank  was  the  darndest  liar  you  ever  knew," 
remarked,  long  after,  a  man  who  had  authority  on 
his  side.  "  And,  by  jinx,  if  he  wouldn't  preface  his 
worst  lies  with  '  Now  this  is  God's  truth! '  " 

He  had  an  older  brother  named  Darius  who  was 
famous  as  "  the  champion  beer-drinker  of  the 
West,"  having  the  engaging  gift  of  being  able  to 
consume  untold  quantities  without  ever  becoming 
drunk.    In  their  way  they  were  a  notable  family. 


22         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Gregor  Lang,  with  the  fortunes  of  his  employer 
at  heart,  watched  Frank's  activities  as  storekeeper 
with  interest.  During  the  mihtary  regime,  Frank 
had  been  post-trader,  a  berth  which  was  an  eminent 
article  of  barter  on  the  shelves  of  congressional 
politicians  and  for  which  fitness  seemed  to  consist 
in  the  ability  to  fill  lonely  soldiers  with  untold  quan- 
tities of  bad  whiskey.  Frank's  "  fitness,"  as  the 
term  was  understood,  was  above  question,  but  his 
bookkeeping,  Lang  found,  was  largely  in  his  mind. 
When  he  received  a  shipment  of  goods  he  set  the 
selling-price  by  multiplying  the  cost  by  two  and 
adding  the  freight;  which  saved  much  calculating. 
Frank's  notions  of  "  mine "  and  "  thine,"  Lang 
discovered,  moreover,  were  elastic.  His  depreda- 
tions were  particularly  heavy  against  a  certain 
shipment  of  patent  medicine  called  "  Tolu  Tonic," 
which  he  ordered  in  huge  quantities  at  the  com- 
pany's expense  and  drank  up  himself.  The  secret 
was  that  Frank,  who  had  inherited  his  father's 
proclivities,  did  not  like  the  "  Forty-Mile  Red  Eye  " 
brand  which  Bill  Williams  concocted  of  sulphuric 
acid  and  cigar  stumps  mixed  with  evil  gin  and 
worse  rum;  and  had  found  that  "Tolu  Tonic" 
was  eighty  per  cent  alcohol. 

Seeing  these  matters,  and  other  matters  for  which 
the  term  "  irregularity "  would  have  been  only 
mildly  descriptive,  Gregor  Lang  sent  Sir  John  a 
report  which  was  not  favorable  to  Frank  Vine's 
regime.  Sir  John  withdrew  from  the  syndicate  in 
disgust  and  ordered  Lang  to  start  a  separate  ranch 


THE  BUFFALO  HUNT  23 

for  him ;  and  Gorringe  himself  began  to  investigate 
the  interesting  ways  of  his  superintendent.  Why 
Lang  was  not  murdered,  he  himself  was  unable  to 
say. 

Lang  had  made  it  his  business  to  acquire  all  the 
information  he  could  secure  on  every  phase  of  the 
cattle  industry,  for  Sir  John  was  avid  of  statistics. 
Roosevelt  asked  question  after  question.  The 
Scotchman  answered  them.  Joe  Ferris,  Lincoln, 
and  a  bony  Scotch  Highlander  named  MacRossie, 
who  lived  with  the  Langs,  had  been  asleep  and  snor- 
ing for  three  hours  before  Gregor  Lang  and  his  guest 
finally  sought  their  bunks. 

It  was  raining  when  they  awoke  next  morning. 
Joe  Ferris,  who  was  willing  to  suffer  discomfort  in 
a  good  cause,  but  saw  no  reason  for  unnecessarily 
courting  misery,  suggested  to  Roosevelt  that  they 
wait  until  the  weather  cleared.  Roosevelt  insisted 
that  they  start  the  hunt.  Joe  recognized  that  he  was 
dealing  with  a  man  who  meant  business,  and  made 
no  further  protest. 

They  left  Lang's  at  six,  crossing  the  Little  Mis- 
souri and  threading  their  way,  mile  after  mile, 
eastward  through  narrow  defiles  and  along  tortuous 
divides.  It  was  a  wild  region,  bleak  and  terrible, 
where  fantastic  devil-carvings  reared  themselves 
from  the  sallow  gray  of  eroded  slopes,  and  the  only 
green  things  were  gnarled  cedars  that  looked  as 
though  they  had  been  born  in  horror  and  had 
grown  up  in  whirlwinds. 

The  ground  underfoot  was  wet  and  sticky;  the 


24         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

rain  continued  all  day  long.  Once,  at  a  distance, 
they  saw  two  or  three  blacktail  deer,  and  a  little 
later  they  came  upon  a  single  buck.  They  crept 
to  within  two  hundred  yards.  Roosevelt  fired,  and 
missed.  There  was  every  reason  why  he  should 
miss,  for  the  distance  was  great  and  the  rain  made  a 
clear  aim  impossible;  but  it  happened  that,  as  the 
deer  bounded  away,  Joe  Ferris  fired  at  a  venture, 
and  brought  him  down.    It  was  a  shot  in  a  thousand. 

Roosevelt  flung  his  gun  on  the  ground.  "  By 
Godfrey!  "  he  exclaimed.  "I'd  give  anything  in 
the  world  if  I  could  shoot  like  that!  " 

His  rage  at  himself  was  so  evident  that  Joe,  being 
tender-hearted,  was  almost  sorry  that  he  had  shot 
so  well. 

They  found  no  buffalo  that  day ;  and  returned  to 
Lang's  after  dusk,  gumbo  mud  to  the  eyes. 

Of  the  two,  Ferris  was  the  one,  it  happened,  who 
wrapped  himself  in  his  buffalo  robe  immediately 
after  supper  and  went  to  sleep.  Roosevelt,  ap- 
parently as  fresh  and  vigorous  as  he  had  been  when 
he  started  out  in  the  morning,  promptly  set  Gregor 
Lang  to  talking  about  cattle. 

Lang,  who  had  been  starved  for  Intellectual 
companionship,  was  glad  to  talk;  and  there  was 
much  to  tell.  It  was  a  new  country  for  cattle.  Less 
than  five  years  before,  the  Indians  had  still  roamed 
free  and  unmolested  over  it.  A  few  daring  white 
hunters  (carrying  each  his  vial  of  poison  with  which 
to  cheat  the  torture-stake,  in  case  of  capture) 
had  invaded   their  hunting-grounds;    then  a  few 


THE  ARGONAUTS  25 

surveyors;  then  grading  crews  under  military  guard 
with  their  retinue  of  saloon-keepers  and  professional 
gamblers;  then  the  gleaming  rails;  then  the 
thundering  and  shrieking  engines.  Eastern  sports- 
men, finding  game  plentiful  in  the  Bad  Lands, 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  where  game  could  sur- 
vive in  winter  and  thrive  in  summer,  cattle  could  do 
likewise,  and  began  to  send  short-horned  stock  west 
over  the  railroad.  A  man  named  Wadsworth  from 
Minnesota  settled  twenty  miles  down  the  river  from 
Little  Missouri;  another  named  Simpson  from 
Texas  established  the  "  Hash-Knife  "  brand  sixty 
or  seventy  miles  above.  The  Eatons  and  A.  D. 
Huidekoper,  all  from  Pittsburgh,  Sir  John  Pender 
from  England,  Lord  Nugent  from  Ireland,  H.  H. 
Gorringe  from  New  York,  came  to  hunt  and  re- 
mained in  person  or  by  proxy  to  raise  cattle  in  the 
new-won  prairies  of  western  Dakota  and  eastern 
Montana.  These  were  the  first  wave.  Henry  Boice 
from  New  Mexico,  Gregor  Lang  from  Scotland, 
Antoine  de  Vallombrosa,  Marquis  de  Mores  (very 
much  from  France)  —  these  were  the  second ; 
young  men  all,  most  under  thirty,  some  under 
twenty-five,  dare-devil  adventurers  with  hot  blood, 
seeing  visions. 

Roosevelt  and  Lang  talked  well  into  the  night. 
The  next  morning  it  was  still  raining.  Roosevelt 
declared  that  he  would  hunt,  anyway.  Joe  pro- 
tested, almost  pathetically.  Roosevelt  was  ob- 
durate, and  Joe,  admiring  the  "  tenderfoot "  in 
spite  of  himself,  submitted.   They  hunted  all  day 


26         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

and  shot  nothing,  returning  to  the  cabin  after  dark, 
covered  with  Dakota  mud. 

Again  it  was  Joe  who  tumbled  into  his  corner, 
and  the  "  tenderfoot  "  who,  after  supper,  fresh  as 
a  daisy,  engaged  his  host  in  conversation.  They 
talked  cattle  and  America  and  politics;  and  again, 
cattle.  The  emphatic  Scotchman  was  very  much 
of  an  individual.  The  eyes  behind  the  oval  glasses 
were  alert,  intelligent,  and  not  without  a  touch  of 
defiance. 

Gregor  Lang  was  one  of  those  Europeans  to  whom 
America  comes  as  a  great  dream,  long  before  they 
set  foot  on  its  soil.  He  felt  sharply  the  appeal  of 
free  institutions,  and  had  proved  ready  to  fight  and 
to  suffer  for  his  convictions.  He  had  had  consider- 
able opportunity  to  do  both,  for  he  had  been  an 
enthusiastic  liberal  in  an  arch-conservative  family, 
frankly  expressing  his  distaste  for  any  form  of 
government,  including  the  British,  which  admitted 
class  distinctions  and  gave  to  the  few  at  the  expense 
of  the  many.  His  insistence  on  naming  his  son 
after  the  man  who  had  been  indirectly  responsible 
for  the  closing  of  England's  cotton-mills  had  almost 
disrupted  his  household. 

He  enjoyed  talking  politics,  and  found  in  Roose- 
velt, who  was  up  to  his  eyes  in  politics  in  his  own 
State,  a  companion  to  delight  his  soul.  Lang  was 
himself  a  good  talker  and  not  given  as  a  rule  to 
patient  listening;  but  he  listened  to  Theodore 
Roosevelt,  somewhat  because  he  wanted  to,  and 
somewhat  because  it  was  difficult  for  any  one  to  do 


POLITICS  27 

anything  else  in  those  days  when  Roosevelt  once 
took  the  floor.  Gregor  Lang  had  known  many  re- 
formers in  his  time,  and  some  had  been  precise  and 
meticulous  and  some  had  been  fiery  and  eloquent, 
but  none  had  possessed  the  overwhelming  passion 
for  public  service  that  seemed  to  burn  in  this 
amazingly  vigorous  and  gay-spirited  American  of 
twenty-four.  Roosevelt  denounced  "  boss  rule " 
until  the  rafters  rang,  coupling  his  denunciation  of 
corrupt  politicians  with  denunciations  of  those 
*'  fireside  moralists "  who  were  forever  crying 
against  bad  government  yet  raising  not  a  finger  to 
correct  it.  The  honest  were  always  in  a  majority, 
he  contended,  and,  under  the  American  Constitu- 
tion, held  in  their  hands  the  power  to  overcome  the 
dishonest  minority.  It  was  the  solemn  duty  of 
every  American  citizen,  he  declared,  not  only  to 
vote,  but  to  fight,  if  need  be,  for  good  government. 

It  was  two  in  the  morning  before  Gregor  Lang 
and  Theodore  Roosevelt  reluctantly  retired  to  their 
bunks. 

Roosevelt  was  up  and  about  at  dawn.  It  was 
still  raining.  Joe  Ferris  suggested  mildly  that  they 
wait  for  better  weather  before  plunging  again  into 
the  sea  of  gumbo  mud,  but  Roosevelt,  who  had 
not  come  to  Dakota  to  twiddle  his  thumbs,  insisted 
that  they  resume  their  hunt.  They  went  and  found 
nothing.   The  rain  continued  for  a  week. 

"  He  nearly  killed  poor  Joe,"  Lincoln  remarked 
afterwards.    "  He  would  not  stop  for  anything." 

Every    morning    Joe    entered    his    protest    and 


28         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Roosevelt  overruled  it,  and  every  evening  Joe 
rolled,  nigh  dead,  into  his  buffalo  robe  and  Roosevelt 
talked  cattle  and  politics  with  Gregor  Lang  until  one 
and  two  in  the  morning.  Joe  and  the  Highlander 
sawed  wood,  but  the  boy  Lincoln  in  his  bunk  lay 
with  wide  eyes. 

"It  was  in  listening  to  those  talks  after  supper 
in  the  old  shack  on  the  Cannonball,"  he  said,  a 
long  time  after,  "  that  I  first  came  to  understand 
that  the  Lord  made  the  earth  for  all  of  us  and  not 
for  a  chosen  few." 

Roosevelt,  too,  received  Inspiration  from  these 
nocturnal  discussions,  but  it  was  an  inspiration  of 
another  sort. 

"  Mr.  Lang,"  he  said  suddenly  one  evening,  "  I 
am  thinking  seriously  of  going  into  the  cattle 
business.   Would  you  advise  me  to  go  into  it?  " 

Gregor  Lang  was  cautious.  "  I  don't  like  to  ad- 
vise you  in  a  matter  of  that  kind,"  he  answered. 
"  I  myself  am  prepared  to  follow  it  out  to  the  end. 
I  have  every  faith  in  it.  If  it's  a  question  of  my 
faith,  I  have  full  faith.  As  a  business  proposition, 
it  is  the  best  there  is." 

They  said  no  more  about  the  matter  that  night. 

The  weather  cleared  at  last.  Joe  Ferris,  who  had 
started  on  the  hunt  with  misgivings,  had  no  mis- 
givings whatever  now.  He  confided  in  Lincoln,  not 
without  a  touch  of  pride  in  his  new  acquaintance, 
that  this  was  a  new  variety  of  tenderfoot,  altogether 
a  "  plumb  good  sort." 

They  started  out  with  new  zest  under  the  clear 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  BUFFALO         29 

sky.  They  had,  in  their  week's  hunting,  come 
across  the  fresh  tracks  of  numerous  buffalo,  but 
had  in  no  case  secured  a  shot.  The  last  great  herd 
had,  in  fact,  been  exterminated  six  months  before, 
and  though  the  Ferrises  and  Merrifield  had  killed 
a  half-dozen  within  a  quarter-mile  of  the  Maltese 
Cross  early  that  summer,  these  had  been  merely  a 
straggling  remnant.  The  days  when  a  hunter  could 
stand  and  bombard  a  dull,  panic-stricken  herd, 
slaughtering  hundreds  without  changing  his  posi- 
tion, were  gone.  In  the  spring  of  1883  the  buffalo 
had  still  roamed  the  prairies  east  and  west  of  the 
Bad  Lands  in  huge  herds,  but  moving  in  herds 
they  were  as  easy  to  shoot  as  a  family  cow  and  the 
profits  even  at  three  dollars  a  pelt  were  great. 
Game-butchers  swarmed  forth  from  Little  Missouri 
and  fifty  other  frontier  "  towns,"  slaughtering  buf- 
falo for  their  skins  or  for  their  tongues  or  for  the 
mere  lust  of  killing.  The  hides  were  piled  high  at 
every  shipping  point;  the  carcasses  rotted  in  the 
sun.  Three  hundred  thousand  buffalo,  driven  north 
from  the  more  settled  plains  of  western  Nebraska, 
and  huddled  in  a  territory  covering  not  more  than 
a  hundred  and  fifty  square  miles,  perished  like 
cattle  in  a  stockyard,  almost  overnight.  It  was 
one  of  the  most  stupendous  and  dramatic  obliter- 
ations in  history  of  a  species  betrayed  by  the  sud- 
den change  of  its  environment. 

Hunting  buffalo  on  horseback  had,  even  In  the 
days  of  the  great  herds,  been  an  altogether  different 
matter    from    the    methodical    slaughter    from    a 


30         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

"  stand,"  where  a  robe  for  every  cartridge  was  not 
an  unusual  "  bag,"  and  where  an  experienced  game- 
butcher  could,  without  recourse  to  Baron  Munch- 
ausen, boast  an  average  of  eighty  per  cent  of 
"  kills."  There  was  always  the  possibility  that  the 
bison,  driven  to  bay,  might  charge  the  sportsman 
who  drove  his  horse  close  in  for  a  sure  shot.  With 
the  great  herds  destroyed,  there  was  added  to 
the  danger  and  the  privations  of  the  wild  country 
where  the  few  remaining  stragglers  might  be  found, 
the  zest  and  the  arduousness  of  long  searching. 
Roosevelt  and  Joe  Ferris  had  had  their  full  share  of 
the  latter. 

They  came  on  the  fresh  track  of  a  buffalo  two 
hours  after  their  departure,  that  clear  warm  morn- 
ing, from  Lang's  hospitable  cabin.  It  was,  for  a 
time,  easy  to  follow,  where  it  crossed  and  recrossed 
a  narrow  creek-bottom,  but  became  almost  un- 
discernible  as  it  struck  off  up  the  side  of  a  winding 
coulee,  where  the  soil,  soaked  as  it  had  been  by  a 
week  of  September  drizzle,  was  already  baked  hard 
by  the  hot  sun.  They  rode  for  an  hour  cautiously 
up  the  ravine.  Suddenly,  as  they  passed  the  mouth 
of  a  side  coulee,  there  was  a  plunge  and  crackle 
through  the  bushes  at  its  head,  and  a  shabby- 
looking  old  bull  bison  galloped  out  of  it  and  plunged 
over  a  steep  bank  into  a  patch  of  broken  ground 
which  led  around  the  base  of  a  high  butte.  The 
bison  was  out  of  sight  before  they  had  time  to  fire. 
At  the  risk  of  their  necks  they  sped  their  horses  over 
the  broken  ground  only  to  see  the  buffalo  emerge 


PURSUIT  31 

from  it  at  the  farther  end  and  with  amazing  agility 
climb  up  the  side  of  a  butte  over  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away.  With  his  shaggy  mane  and  huge  forequarters 
he  had  some  of  the  impressiveness  of  a  lion  as  he 
stood  for  an  instant  looking  back  at  his  pursuers. 
They  followed  him  for  miles,  but  caught  no  glimpse 
of  him  again. 

They  were  now  on  the  prairie  far  to  the  east  of 
the  river,  a  steaming,  treeless  region  stretching  in 
faint  undulations  north,  east,  and  south,  until  it 
met  the  sky  in  the  blurred  distance.  Here  and 
there  it  was  broken  by  a  sunken  water-course,  dry 
in  spite  of  a  week  of  wet  weather,  or  a  low  bluff 
or  a  cluster  of  small,  round-topped  buttes.  The 
gr'ass  was  burnt  brown;  the  air  was  hot  and  still. 
The  country  had  the  monotony  and  the  melancholy 
and  more  than  a  little  of  the  beauty  and  the  fascina- 
tion of  the  sea. 

They  ate  their  meager  lunch  beside  a  miry  pool, 
where  a  clump  of  cedars  under  a  bluff  gave  a  few 
square  feet  of  shadow.  • 

All  afternoon  they  rode  over  the  dreary  prairie, 
but  it  was  late  before  they  caught  another  glimpse  of 
game.  Then,  far  off  in  the  middle  of  a  large  plain, 
they  saw  three  black  specks. 

The  horses  were  slow  beasts,  and  were  tired  be- 
sides and  in  no  condition  for  running.  Roosevelt 
and  his  mentor  picketed  them  in  a  hollow,  half  a 
mile  from  the  game,  and  started  off  on  their  hands 
and  knees.  Roosevelt  blundered  into  a  bed  of 
cactus  and  filled  his  hands  with  the  spines;   but  he 


32        ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS  , 

came  within  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  or  less  of  the 
buffalo.  He  drew  up  and  fired.  The  bullet  made  the 
dust  fly  from  the  hide  as  it  hit  the  body  with  a  loud 
crack,  but  apparently  did  no  particular  harm.  The 
three  buffalo  made  off  over  a  low  rise  with  their  tails 
in  the  air. 

The  hunters  returned  to  their  horses  in  disgust, 
and  for  seven  or  eight  miles  loped  the  jaded  animals 
along  at  a  brisk  pace.  Now  and  again  they  saw 
the  quarry  far  ahead.  Finally,  when  the  sun  had 
just  set,  they  saw  that  all  three  had  come  to  a 
stand  in  a  gentle  hollow.  There  was  no  cover  any- 
where. They  determined,  as  a  last  desperate  resort, 
to  try  to  run  them  on  their  worn-out  ponies. 

The  bison  faced  them  for  an  instant,  then  turned 
and  made  off.  With  spurs  and  quirt,  Roosevelt 
urged  his  tired  pony  forward.  Night  closed  in 
and  the  full  moon  rose  out  of  the  black  haze  on  the 
horizon.  The  pony  plunged  to  within  sixty  or 
seventy  yards  of  the  wounded  bull,  and  could  gain 
no  more.  Joe  Ferris,  better  mounted,  forged  ahead. 
The  bull,  seeing  him  coming,  swerved.  Roosevelt 
cut  across  and  came  almost  up  to  him.  The  ground 
over  which  they  were  running  was  broken  into  holes 
and  ditches,  and  the  fagged  horses  floundered  and 
pitched  forward  at  every  step. 

At  twenty  feet,  Roosevelt  fired,  but  the  pony 
was  pitching  like  a  launch  in  a  storm,  and  he  missed. 
He  dashed  in  closer. 

The  bull's  tail  went  up  and  he  wheeled  suddenly 
and  charged  with  lowered  horns. 


THE   PRAIRIE  AT  THE  EDGE  OF  THE   BAD  LANDS 


"BROKEN  COUNTRY' 


THE  CHARGE  OF  THE  BUFFALO         33 

The  pony,  panic-stricken,  spun  round  and  tossed 
up  his  head,  striking  the  rifle  which  Roosevelt  was 
holding  in  both  hands  and  knocking  it  violently 
against  his  forehead,  cutting  a  deep  gash.  The 
blood  poured  into  Roosevelt's  eyes. 

Ferris  reined  in  his  pony.  **  All  right?  "  he  called, 
evidently  frightened. 

"  Don't  mind  me!  "  Roosevelt  shouted,  without 
turning  an  instant  from  the  business  in  hand.  ''I'm 
all  right." 

For  an  instant  it  was  a  question  whether  Roose- 
velt would  get  the  buffalo  or  the  buffalo  would  get 
Roosevelt.  But  he  swerved  his  horse,  and  the 
buffalo,  plunging  past,  charged  Ferris  and  followed 
him  as  he  made  off  over  the  broken  ground,  un- 
comfortably close  to  the  tired  pony's  tail.  Roose- 
velt, half-blinded,  tried  to  run  in  on  him  again,  but 
his  pony  stopped,  dead  beat;  and  by  no  spurring 
could  he  force  him  out  of  a  slow  trot.  Ferris, 
swerving  suddenly  and  dismounting,  fired,  but  the 
dim  moonlight  made  accurate  aim  impossible,  and 
the  buffalo,  to  the  utter  chagrin  of  the  hunters, 
lumbered  off  and  vanished  into  the  darkness. 
Roosevelt  followed  him  for  a  short  space  afoot  in 
hopeless  and  helpless  wrath.     ' 

There  was  no  possibility  of  returning  to  Lang's 
that  night.  They  were  not  at  all  certain  where 
they  were,  but  they  knew  they  were  a  long  way 
from  the  mouth  of  the  Little  Cannonball.  They 
determined  to  camp  near  by  for  the  night. 

They  did  not  mount  the  exhausted  horses,  but 


34        ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

led  them,  stumbling,  foaming  and  sweating,  while 
they  hunted  for  water.  It  was  an  hour  before  they 
found  a  little  mud-pool  in  a  reedy  hollow.  They 
had  drunk  nothing  for  twelve  hours  and  were 
parched  with  thirst,  but  the  water  of  the  pool 
was  like  thin  jelly,  slimy  and  nauseating,  and  they 
could  drink  only  a  mouthful.  Supper  consisted  of 
a  dry  biscuit,  previously  baked  by  Lincoln  under 
direction  of  his  father,  who  insisted  that  the  use  of 
a  certain  kind  of  grease  whose  name  is  lost  to  his- 
tory would  keep  the  biscuits  soft.  They  were  hard 
as  horn.^  There  was  not  a  twig  with  which  to 
make  a  fire,  nor  a  bush  to  which  they  could  fasten 
their  horses.  When  they  lay  down  to  sleep,  thirsty 
and  famished,  they  had  to  tie  their  horses  with 
the  lariat  to  the  saddles  which  were  their  pillows. 

They  did  not  go  quickly  to  sleep.  The  horses 
were  nervous,  restless,  alert,  in  spite  of  their  fatigue, 
continually  snorting  or  standing  with  their  ears 
forward,  peering  out  into  the  night,  as  though 
conscious  of  the  presence  of  danger.  Roosevelt 
remembered  some  half-breed  Crees  they  had  en- 
countered the  day  before.  It  was  quite  possible 
that  some  roving  bucks  might  come  for  their  horses, 

^  "  I  would  start  to  make  biscuits  and  as  usual  go  about  putting 
shortening  into  them,  which  father  didn't  like.  We'd  argue  over  it 
a  little,  and  I  would  say,  'Good  biscuits  can't  be  made  without 
grease.'  Then  he'd  say,  'Well,  use  elbow  grease.'  I'd  say  then,  'Well, 
all  right,  I'll  try  it.'  Then  I'd  go  to  work  and  knead  the  dough  hard 
(on  purpose),  understanding,  of  course,  that  kneading  utterly  spoils 
biscuit  dough,  whether  there  is  shortening  in  it  or  not.  The  result  is 
a  pan  of  adamantine  biscuits  which,_of  course,  I  blame  on  him."  — 
Lincoln  Lang. 


BROKEN  SLUMBERS  35 

and  perhaps  their  scalps,  for  the  Indians,  who  were 
still  unsettled  on  their  reservations,  had  a  way  of 
stealing  off  whenever  they  found  a  chance  and  doing 
what  damage  they  could.  Stories  he  had  heard  of 
various  bands  of  horse-thieves  that  operated  in 
the  region  between  the  Little  Missouri  and  the 
Black  Hills  likewise  returned  to  mind  to  plague  him. 
The  wilderness  in  which  Roosevelt  and  Ferris  had 
pitched  their  meager  camp  was  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  region  infested  by  the  bandits.  They  dozed 
fitfully,  waking  with  a  start  whenever  the  sound 
of  the  grazing  of  the  horses  ceased  for  a  moment, 
and  they  knew  that  the  nervous  animals  were 
watching  for  the  approach  of  a  foe.  It  was  late 
when  at  last  they  fell  asleep. 

They  were  rudely  wakened  at  midnight  by  having 
their  pillows  whipped  out  from  under  their  heads. 
They  leapt  to  their  feet.  In  the  bright  moonlight 
they  saw  the  horses  madly  galloping  off,  with  the 
saddles  bounding  and  trailing  behind  them.  Their 
first  thought  was  that  the  horses  had  been  stam- 
peded by  horse-thieves,  and  they  threw  themselves 
on  the  ground,  crouching  in  the  long  grass  with 
rifles  ready. 

There  was  no  stir.  At  last,  in  the  hollow  they 
made  out  a  shadowy,  four-footed  shape.  It  was  a 
wolf  who  strode  noiselessly  to  the  low  crest  and 
disappeared. 

They  rose  and  went  after  the  horses,  taking  the 
broad  trail  made  by  the  saddles  through  the  dewy 
grass. 


36        ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Once  Joe  Ferris  stopped.  "  Say,  I  ain't  ever 
committed  any  crime  deservin'  that  anything  like 
this  should  happen!  "  he  exclaimed  plaintively. 
Then,  turning  straight  to  Roosevelt,  evidently 
suspecting  that  he  had  a  Jonah  on  his  hands,  he 
cried,  in  a  voice  in  which  wrath  was  mingled  with 
comic  despair,  "  Have  you  ever  done  anything  to 
deserve  this?  " 

"  Joe,"  Roosevelt  answered  solemnly,  "  I  never 
have." 

"  Then  I  can't  understand,"  Joe  remarked,  "  why 
we're  runnin'  in  such  luck." 

Roosevelt  grinned  at  him  and  chuckled,  and  Joe 
Ferris  grinned  and  chuckled;  and  after  that  the 
savage  attentions  of  an  unkind  fate  did  not  seem 
so  bad. 

They  found  the  horses  sooner  than  they  expected 
and  led  them  back  to  camp.  Utterly  weary,  they 
wrapped  themselves  in  their  blankets  once  more 
and  went  to  sleep.  But  rest  was  not  for  them  that 
night.  At  three  in  the  morning  a  thin  rain  began 
to  fall,  and  they  awoke  to  find  themselves  lying  in 
four  inches  of  water.  Joe  Ferris  expected  lamenta- 
tions. What  he  heard  was,  "  By  Godfrey,  but  this 
is  fun!" 

They  cowered  and  shivered  under  their  blankets 
until  dawn.  Then,  soaked  to  the  skin,  they  made 
breakfast  of  Lang's  adamantine  biscuits,  mounted 
their  horses,  and  were  off,  glad  to  bid  good-bye  to 
the  inhospitable  pool. 

A  fine,  drizzling  mist,  punctuated  at  intervals 


FAILURE  37 

by  heavy  downpours  of  rain,  shrouded  the  desolate 
region  and  gathered  them  into  a  chilly  desolation 
of  its  own.  They  traveled  by  compass.  It  was 
only  after  hours  that  the  mist  lifted,  revealing  the 
world  about  them,  and,  in  the  center  of  it,  several 
black  objects  slowly  crossing  a  piece  of  rolling 
country  ahead.    They  were  buffalo. 

They  picketed  the  horses,  and  crept  forward  on 
their  hands  and  knees  through  the  soft,  muddy 
prairie  soil.  A  shower  of  cold  rain  blew  up-wind 
straight  in  their  faces  and  made  the  teeth  chatter 
behind  their  blue  lips.  The  rain  was  blowing  in 
Roosevelt's  eyes  as  he  pulled  the  trigger.  He 
missed  clean,  and  the  whole  band  plunged  into  a 
hollow  and  were  off. 

What  Joe  Ferris  said  upon  that  occasion  remains 
untold.  It  was  "  one  of  those  misses,"  Roosevelt 
himself  remarked  afterwards,  "  which  a  man  to  his 
dying  day  always  looks  back  upon  with  wonder 
and  regret."  In  wet,  sullen  misery  he  returned 
with  Joe  to  the  horses. 

The  rain  continued  all  day,  and  they  spent 
another  wretched  night.  They  had  lived  for  two 
days  on  nothing  but  biscuits  and  rainwater,  and 
privation  had  thoroughly  lost  whatever  charm  it 
might  have  had  for  an  adventurous  young  man  in 
search  of  experience.  The  next  morning  brought 
sunlight  and  revived  spirits,  but  it  brought  no 
change  in  their  luck. 

"  Bad  luck  followed  us,"  Joe  Ferris  remarked 
long  after,  "  like  a  yellow  dog  follows  a  drunkard." 


38         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Joe's  horse  nearly  stepped  on  a  rattlesnake,  and 
narrowly  escaped  being  bitten;  a  steep  bluff  broke 
away  under  their  ponies'  hoofs,  and  sent  them 
sliding  and  rolling  to  the  bottom  of  a  long  slope, 
a  pile  of  intermingled  horses  and  men.  Shortly 
after,  Roosevelt's  horse  stepped  into  a  hole  and 
turned  a  complete  somersault,  pitching  his  rider 
a  good  ten  feet;  and  he  had  scarcely  recovered  his 
composure  and  his  seat  in  the  saddle,  when  the 
earth  gave  way  under  his  horse  as  though  he  had 
stepped  on  a  trap-door,  and  let  him  down  to  his 
withers  in  soft,  sticky  mud.  They  hauled  the 
frightened  animal  out  by  the  lariat,  with  infinite 
labor.    Altogether  it  was  not  a  restful  Sunday. 

More  than  once  Joe  Ferris  looked  at  Roosevelt 
quizzically,  wondering  when  the  pleasant  "  four- 
eyed  tenderfoot "  would  begin  to  worry  about 
catching  cold  and  admit  at  last  that  the  game  was 
too  much  for  him.  But  the  "  tenderfoot,"  it  hap- 
pened, had  a  dogged  streak.  He  made  no  sugges- 
tion of  "  quitting." 

"  He  could  stand  an  awful  lot  of  hard  knocks," 
Joe  explained  later,  "  and  he  was  always  cheerful. 
You  just  couldn't  knock  him  out  of  sorts.  He  was 
entertaining,  too,  and  I  liked  to  listen  to  him, 
though,  on  the  whole,  he  wasn't  much  on  the  talk. 
He  said  that  he  wanted  to  get  away  from  politics, 
so  I  didn't  mention  political  matters;  and  he  had 
books  with  him  and  would  read  at  odd  times." 

Joe  began  to  look  upon  his  "  tenderfoot  "  with 
a  kind  of  awe,  which  was  not  diminished  when 


IT'S  DOGGED  THAT  DOES  IT  39 

Roosevelt,  blowing  up  a  rubber  pillow  which  he 
carried  with  him,  casually  remarked  one  night  that 
his  doctors  back  East  had  told  him  that  he  did  not 
have  much  longer  to  live,  and  that  violent  exercise 
would  be  immediately  fatal. 

They  returned  to  Lang's,  Roosevelt  remarking 
to  himself  that  it  was  "  dogged  that  does  it,"  and 
ready  to  hunt  three  weeks  if  necessary  to  get  his 
buffalo. 

If  Lang  had  any  notion  that  the  privations  of 
the  hunt  had  dampened  Roosevelt's  enthusiasm  for 
the  frontier,  Roosevelt  himself  speedily  dispelled  it. 

Roosevelt  had,  for  a  year  or  more,  felt  the  itch 
to  be  a  monarch  of  acres.  He  had  bought  land  at 
Oyster  Bay,  including  an  elevation  known  to  the 
neighbors  as  Sagamore  Hill,  where  he  was  building 
a  house;  but  a  view  and  a  few  acres  of  woodland 
could  not  satisfy  his  craving.  He  wanted  expanses 
to  play  with,  large  works  to  plan  and  execute, 
subordinates  to  inspire  and  to  direct.  He  had 
driven  his  uncles,  who  were  as  Intensely  practical 
and  thrifty  as  Dutch  uncles  should  be,  and  his 
sisters,  wh,o  were,  at  least,  very  much  more  practical 
in  money  matters  than  he  was,  nearly  frantic  the 
preceding  summer  by  declaring  his  intention  to 
purchase  a  large  farm  adjoining  the  estate  of  his 
brother-in-law,  Douglas  Robinson,  in  the  Mohawk 
Valley;  for  his  kin  knew,  what  he  himself  failed  to 
recognize,  that  he  was  not  made  to  be  a  farmer 
and  that  he  who  loved  to  be  in  the  center  of  the 
seething  world  would  explode,  or  burn  himself  out, 


40    ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

in  a  countryside  a  night's  run  from  anywhere. 
They  knew  also  that  farming  was  not  a  spiritual 
adventure,  but  a  business,  and  that  Theodore,  with 
his  generous  habit  of  giving  away  a  few  thousands 
here  and  a  few  thousands  there,  was  not  exactly 
a  business  man.  He  had  yielded  to  their  abjura- 
tions;  but  his  hankering  for  acres  had  remained. 

Here  in  Dakota  were  all  the  acres  that  any  man 
could  want,  and  they  were  his  for  the  asking. 

To  this  vague  craving  to  be  monarch  of  all  he 
surveyed  (or  nearly  all),  another  emotion  which 
Roosevelt  might  have  identified  with  business 
acumen  had  during  the  past  year  been  added.  To- 
gether with  a  Harvard  classmate,  Richard  Trimble, 
he  had  become  interested  in  a  ranching  project 
known  as  the  Teschmaker  and  Debillier  Cattle 
Company,  which  "ran"  some  thousands  of  head  of 
cattle  fifty  or  sixty  miles  north  of  Cheyenne;  and 
he  had  invested  ten  thousand  dollars  in  it.  Com- 
mander Gorringe,  seeking  to  finance  the  enterprise 
in  which  he  was  involved,  in  the  course  of  his 
hunting  accounts  doubtlessly  spoke  glowingly  to 
Roosevelt  of  the  huge  profits  that  awaited  Eastern 
dollars  in  the  Bad  Lands.  Roosevelt,  it  appears, 
asked  his  uncle,  James  Roosevelt,  his  father's  elder 
brother  and  head  of  the  banking  firm  of  Roosevelt 
and  Son,  whether  he  would  advise  him  to  invest  a 
further  sum  of  five  thousand  dollars  in  cattle  in 
Dakota. 

Uncle  James,  to  whom,  as  investments,  cattle 
ranches  were  in  a  class  with  gold  mines,  emphati- 


ROOSEVELT  MAKES  A  DECISION         41 

cally  informed  Theodore  that  he  would  not  at  all 
advise  him  to  do  anything  of  the  kind.  How 
deeply  Roosevelt  was  impressed  by  this  information 
subsequent  events  clearly  indicate. 

Roosevelt  and  Lang  sat  at  the  table  long  after 
Lincoln  had  cleared  it  that  night.  Joe  and  the 
Highlander  were  asleep,  but  Lincoln  heard  the  two 
men  talking  and,  years  after,  remembered  thp 
conversation  of  that  momentous  September  night. 

"  Mr.  Lang,"  said  Roosevelt  abruptly,  "  I  have 
definitely  decided  to  go  into  the  cattle  business. 
I  want  somebody  to  run  cattle  for  me  on  shares 
or  to  take  the  management  of  my  cattle  under 
some  arrangement  to  be  worked  out.  Will  you 
take  charge  of  my  cattle?  " 

The  Scotchman,  who  was  naturally  deliberate, 
was  not  prepared  to  meet  such  precipitancy.  He 
told  Roosevelt  that  he  appreciated  his  offer.  "  Un- 
fortunately," he  added  reluctantly,  "  I  am  tied  up 
with  the  other  people." 

Roosevelt's  regret  was  evident.  He  asked  Lang 
whether  there  was  any  one  he  would  recommend. 
Without  hesitation,  Lang  suggested  Sylvane  Ferris 
and  Bill  Merrifield.  Early  the  next  morning  Lincoln 
Lang  was  dispatched  to  the  Maltese  Cross. 

Meanwhile  Roosevelt  and  Joe  continued  the  pur- 
suit of  the  elusive  buffalo.  But  again  luck  was  far 
from  them.  For  two  days  they  hunted  in  vain. 
When  they  returned  to  Lang's  the  second  dusk, 
Sylvane  and  Merrifield  were  there  waiting  for  them. 

That  evening,  after  supper,  Roosevelt  sat  on  a 


42         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

log  outside  Lang's  cabin  with  the  two  ranchmen  and 
asked  them  how  much  in  their  opinion  it  would 
cost  adequately  to  stock  a  cattle-ranch. 

"  Depends  what  you  want  to  do,"  answered 
Sylvane.  "But  my  guess  is,  if  you  want  to  do  it 
right,  that  it'll  spoil  the  looks  of  forty  thousand 
dollars." 

"  How  much  would  you  need  right  off?  "  Roose- 
velt went  on. 

"  Oh,  a  third  would  make  a  start." 

"  Could  you  boys  handle  the  cattle  for  me?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Sylvane  in  his  pleasant,  quiet 
drawl,  "  I  guess  we  could  take  care  of  'em  'bout  as 
well  as  the  next  man." 

"  Why,  I  guess  so!  ''  ejaculated  Merrifield. 
;    "  Well,  will  you  do  it?  " 

"  Now,  that's  another  story,"  said  Sylvane. 
"  Merrifield  here  and  me  is  under  contract  with 
Wadsworth  and  Halley.  We've  got  a  bunch  of 
cattle  with  them  on  shares.  I  guess  we'd  like  to  do 
business  with  you  right  enough,  Mr.  Roosevelt,  but 
there's  nothing  we  can  do  until  Wadsworth  and 
Halley  releases  us." 

"  I'll  buy  those  cattle." 

"  All  right,"  remarked  Sylvane.  "  Then  the  best 
thing  for  us  to  do  is  to  go  to  Minnesota  an'  see 
those  men  an'  get  released  from  our  contract.  When 
that's  fixed  up,  we  can  make  any  arrangements 
you've  a  mind  to." 

"  That  will  suit  me." 

Roosevelt  drew  a  checkbook  from  his  pocket, 


HE  ACQUIRES  TWO  PARTNERS  43 

and  there,  sitting  on  the  log  (oh,  vision  of  Uncle 
James!)  wrote  a  check,  not  for  the  contemplated 
five  thousand  dollars,  but  for  fourteen,  and  handed 
it  to  Sylvane.  Merrifield  and  Sylvane,  he  directed, 
were  to  purchase  a  few  hundred  head  of  cattle 
that  fall  in  addition  to  the  hundred  and  fifty  head 
which  they  held  on  shares  for  Wadsworth. 

"  Don't  you  want  a  receipt?  "  asked  Merrifield 
at  last. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  said  Roosevelt.  "  If  I 
didn't  trust  you  men,  I  wouldn't  go  into  business 
with  you." 

They  shook  hands  all  around;  whereupon  they 
dropped  the  subject  from  conversation  and  talked 
about  game. 

"  We  were  sitting  on  a  log."  said  Merrifield,  many 
years  later,  "up  at  what  we  called  Cannonball 
Creek.  He  handed  us  a  check  for  fourteen  thousand 
dollars,  handed  it  right  over  to  us  on  a  verbal 
contract.    He  didn't  have  a  scratch  of  a  pen  for  it." 

"  All  the  security  he  had  for  his  money,"  added 
Sylvane,  "  was  our  honesty." 

The  man  from  the  East,  with  more  than  ordinary 
ability  to  read  the  faces  of  men,  evidently  thought 
that  that  was  quite  enough. 

The  next  dawn  Roosevelt  did  not  go  hunting  as 
usual.  All  morning  he  sat  over  the  table  in  the 
cabin  with  Lang  and  the  two  Canadians  laboring 
over  the  contract  which  three  of  them  were  to  sign 
in  case  his  prospective  partners  were  released  from 
the  obligation  which  for  the  time  bound  them.    It 


44         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

was  determined  that  Ferris  and  Merrifield  should  go 
at  once  to  Minnesota  to  confer  with  Wadsworth 
and  Halley.  Roosevelt,  meanwhile,  would  continue 
his  buffalo  hunt,  remaining  in  the  Bad  Lands  until 
he  received  word  that  the  boys  from  the  Maltese 
Cross  were  in  a  position  to  "  complete  the  deal." 
The  wheels  of  the  new  venture  having  thus,  in  de- 
fiance of  Uncle  James,  been  set  in  motion,  Roosevelt 
parted  from  his  new  friends,  and  resumed  the  in- 
terrupted chase. 

The  red  gods  must  have  looked  with  favor  on 
Roosevelt's  adventurous  spirit,  for  luck  turned 
suddenly  in  his  favor.  Next  morning  he  was 
skirting  a  ridge  of  broken  buttes  with  Joe  Ferris, 
near  the  upper  waters  of  the  Little  Cannonball  west 
of  Lang's  camp  over  the  Montana  line,  when  sud- 
denly both  ponies  threw  up  their  heads  and  snuffed 
the  air,  turning  their  muzzles  toward  a  coulee  that 
sloped  gently  toward  the  creek-bottom  they  were 
traversing.  Roosevelt  slipped  off  his  pony  and  ran 
quickly  but  cautiously  up  the  side  of  the  ravine.  In 
the  soft  soil  at  the  bottom  he  saw  the  round  prints 
of  a  bison's  hoof. 

He  came  upon  the  buffalo  an  instant  later,  grazing 
slowly  up  the  valley.  Both  wind  and  shelter  were 
good,  and  he  ran  close.  The  bull  threw  back  his 
head  and  cocked  his  tail  in  the  air. 

Joe  Ferris,  who  had  followed  close  at  Roosevelt's 
heels,  pointed  out  a  yellow  spot  on  the  buffalo,  just 
back  of  the  shoulder.  "If  you  hit  him  there,"  he 
whispered,  "  you'll  get  him  right  through  the  heart." 


HE  KILLS  HIS  BUFFALO  45 

It  seemed  to  Joe  that  the  Easterner  was  extra- 
ordinarily cool,  as  he  aimed  deliberately  and  fired. 
With  amazing  agility  the  buffalo  bounded  up  the 
opposite  side  of  the  ravine,  seemingly  heedless  of  two 
more  bullets  aimed  at  his  flank. 

Joe  was  ready  to  throw  up  his  hands  in  despair. 
But  suddenly  they  saw  blood  pouring  from  the 
bison's  mouth  and  nostrils.  The  great  bull  rushed 
to  the  ridge  at  a  lumbering  gallop,  and  disappeared. 

They  found  him  lying  in  the  next  gully,  dead,  as 
Joe  Ferris  remarked,  "  as  Methusalem's  cat." 

Roosevelt,  with  all  his  intellectual  maturity,  was 
a  good  deal  of  a  boy,  and  the  Indian  war-dance  he 
executed  around  the  prostrate  buffalo  left  nothing 
in  the  way  of  delight  unexpressed.  Joe  watched 
the  performance  open-mouthed. 

"  I  never  saw  any  one  so  enthused  in  my  life," 
he  said  in  after  days,  "  and,  by  golly,  I  was  enthused 
myself  for  more  reasons  than  one.  I  was  plumb 
tired  out,  and,  besides,  he  was  so  eager  to  shoot 
his  first  buffalo  that  it  somehow  got  into  my  blood; 
and  I  wanted  to  see  him  kill  his  first  one  as  badly  as 
he  wanted  to  kill  it." 

Roosevelt,  out  of  the  gladness  of  his  heart,  then 
and  there  presented  him  with  a  hundred  dollars;  so 
there  was  another  reason  for  Joe  to  be  happy. 

They  returned  to  Lang's,  chanting  paeans  of 
victory.  Early  next  day  Roosevelt  returned  with 
Joe  to  the  place  where  they  had  left  the  buffalo  and 
with  endless  labor  skinned  the  huge  beast  and 
brought  the  head  and  vslippery  hide  to  camp. 


46         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

The  next  morning  Roosevelt  took  his  departure. 

Gregor  Lang  watched  the  mounted  figure  ride  off 
beside  the  ratthng  buckboard.  "  He  is  the  most 
extraordinary  man  I  have  ever  met,"  he  said  to 
Lincoln.  "  I  shall  be  surprised  if  the  world  does  not 
hear  from  him  one  of  these  days." 


Ill 

Some  came  for  lungs,  and  some  for  jobs, 
And  some  for  booze  at  Big-mouth  Bob'3, 
Some  to  punch  cattle,  some  to  shoot, 
Some  for  a  vision,  some  for  loot; 
Some  for  views  and  some  for  vice, 
Some  for  faro,  some  for  dice; 
Some  for  the  joy  of  a  galloping  hoof, 
Some  for  the  prairie's  spacious  roof. 
Some  to  forget  a  face,  a  fan, 
Some  to  plumb  the  heart  of  man; 
Some  to  preach  and  some  to  blow, 
Some  to  grab  and  some  to  grow. 
Some  in  anger,  some  in  pride, 
*  Some  to  taste,  before  they  died, 

Life  served  hot  and  a  la  cartee  — 
And  some  to  dodge  a  necktie-party. 

From  Medora  Nights 

Roosevelt  remained  in  Little  Missouri  to  wait  for 
news  from  Merrifield  and  Sylvane,  who  had  departed 
for  Minnesota  a  day  or  two  previous.  Possibly  it 
occurred  to  him  that  a  few  days  in  what  was  said 
to  be  the  worst  "  town  "  on  the  Northern  Pacific 
might  have  their  charm. 

Roosevelt  was  enough  of  a  boy  rather  to  relish 
things  that  were  blood-curdling.  Years  after,  a 
friend  of  Roosevelt's,  who  had  himself  committed 
almost  every  crime  in  the  register,  remarked;  in 
commenting  in  a  tone  of  injured  morality  on 
Roosevelt's  frank  regard  for  a  certain  desperate 
character,  that  "  Roosevelt  had  a  weakness  for 
murderers."  The  reproach  has  a  delightful  sugges- 
tiveness.  Whether  it  was  merited  or  not  is  a  large 
question  on  which  Roosevelt  himself  might  have 


48        ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

discoursed  with  emphasis  and  humor.  If  he  actually 
did  possess  such  a  weakness,  Little  Missouri  and 
the  boom  town  were  fully  able  to  satisfy  it. 

"  Little  Missouri  was  a  terrible  place,"  remarked, 
years  after,  a  man  who  had  had  occasion  to  study  it. 
It  was,  in  fact,  "  wild  and  woolly  "  to  an  almost 
grotesque  degree,  and  the  boom  town  was  if  anything 
a  little  cruder  than  its  twin  across  the  river.  The 
men  who  had  drifted  into  Medora  after  the  news 
was  noised  abroad  that  "  a  crazy  Frenchman  "  was 
making  ready  to  scatter  millions  there,  were,  many 
of  them,  outcasts  of  society,  reckless,  greedy,  and 
conscienceless;  fugitives  from  justice  with  criminal 
records,  and  gunmen  who  lived  by  crooked  gambling 
and  thievery  of  every  sort.  The  best  of  those  who 
had  come  that  summer  to  seek  adventure  and 
fortune  on  the  banks  of  the  Little  Missouri  were 
men  who  cared  little  for  their  personal  safety, 
courting  danger  wherever  it  beckoned,  careless  of 
life  and  limb,  reticent  of  speech  and  swift  of  action, 
light-hearted  and  altogether  human.  They  were 
the  adventurous  and  unfettered  spirits  of  hundreds 
of  communities  whom  the  restrictions  of  respectable 
society  had  galled.  Here  they  were,  elbowing  each 
other  in  a  little  corner  of  sagebrush  country  where 
there  was  little  to  do  and  much  whiskey  to  drink; 
and  the  hand  of  the  law  was  light  and  far  away. 

Somewhere,  hundreds  of  miles  to  the  south,  there 
was  a  United  States  marshal ;  somewhere  a  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  to  the  east  there  was  a  sheriff.  Neither 
Medora  nor  Little  Missouri  had  any  representative 


ROOSEVELT   IN   I 


MEDORA  IN  THE  WINTER  OF   l{ 
The  office  and  company-store  of  the  Marquis  de  Mores 


JAKE  MAUNDERS  49 

of  the  law  whatsoever,  no  government  or  even  a 
shadow  of  government.  The  feuds  that  arose  were 
settled  by  the  parties  involved  in  the  ancient  manner 
of  Cain. 

Of  the  heterogeneous  aggregation  of  desperate 
men  that  made  up  the  population  of  the  frontier 
settlement,  Jake  Maunders,  the  man  who  had  lent 
Roosevelt  a  hammer  and  a  buffalo-gun,  was,  by  all 
odds,  the  most  prominent  and  the  least  trustworthy. 

He  had  been  one  of  the  first  to  settle  at  Little 
Missouri,  and  for  a  while  had  lived  in  the  open  as 
a  hunter.  But  the  influx  of  tourists  and  "  floaters  " 
had  indicated  to  him  a  less  arduous  form  of  labor. 
He  guided  "  tenderfeet,"  charging  exorbitant  rates; 
he  gambled  (cautiously) ;  whenever  a  hunter  left  the 
Bad  Lands,  abandoning  his  shack.  Maunders 
claimed  it  with  the  surrounding  country,  and,  when 
a  settler  took  up  land  near  by,  demanded  five  hun- 
dred dollars  for  his  rights.  A  man  whom  he  owed 
three  thousand  dollars  had  been  opportunely  kicked 
into  oblivion  by  a  horse  in  a  manner  that  was 
mysterious  to  men  who  knew  the  ways  of  horses. 
He  had  shot  MacNab,  the  Scotchman,  in  cold 
blood,  as  he  came  across  the  sagebrush  flat  from 
Bill  Williams's  saloon,  kneeling  at  the  corner  of  his 
shack  with  his  rifle  on  his  knee.  Another  murder 
was  laid  directly  at  his  door.  But  the  forces  of  law 
were  remote  from  Little  Missouri,  and  Jake 
Maunders  not  only  lived,  but  flourished. 

His  enemies  said  he  was  "  the  sneakiest  man  in 
town,  always  figuring  on  somebody  else  doing  the 


50         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

dirty  work  for  him,  and  him  reap  the  benefits";  but 
his  friends  said  that  "  once  Jake  was  your  friend, 
he  was  your  friend,  and  that  was  all  there  was  to 
it."  The  truth  remains  that  the  friends  Jake  chose 
were  all  characters  only  a  little  less  shady  than 
himself. 

Most  prominent  of  these  were  the  precious  pair 
who  "  operated  "  Bill  Williams's  saloon.  Bill 
Williams  was  a  Welshman  who  had  drifted  into 
Little  Missouri  while  the  railroad  was  being  built, 
and,  recognizing  that  the  men  who  made  money  in 
frontier  settlements  were  the  men  who  sold  whiskey, 
had  opened  a  saloon  to  serve  liquid  refreshment  in 
various  vicious  forms  to  the  grading  crews  and 
soldiers. 

**  He  always  reminded  me  of  a  red  fox,"  said  Lin- 
coln Lang  long  after,  "for,  besides  having  a  marked 
carroty  complexion,  there  was  a  cunning  leer  in  his 
face  which  seemed,  as  it  were,  to  show  indistinctly 
through  the  transparency  of  the  manufactured  grin 
with  which  he  sought  to  cover  it.  When  he  got  mad 
over  something  or  other  and  swept  the  grin  aside,  I  do 
not  think  that  an  uglier  countenance  ever  existed  on 
earth  or  in  hell.  He  was  rather  short  of  stature,  bul- 
let-headed and  bull-necked,  with  a  sloping  forehead 
and  a  somewhat  underslung  chin.  His  nose  was  red 
and  bulbous,  his  eyes  narrow-set  beneath  bushy  red 
eyebrows.  He  had  a  heavy  red  moustache  not  al- 
together concealing  an  abnormally  long  mouth,  and 
through  it  at  times,  when  he  smiled,  his  teeth  showed 
like  fangs.'* 


THE  BAD  MEN  51 

He  was  a  man  of  natural  shrewdness,  a  money- 
maker, a  gambler,  and  like  Maunders  (it  was 
rumored)  a  brander  of  cattle  that  were  not  his. 
But  he  was  not  without  a  certain  attractive  quality, 
and  when  he  was  slightly  drunk  he  was  brilliant. 
He  was  deathly  afraid  of  being  alone,  and  had  a 
habit  on  those  infrequent  occasions  when  his  bar 
was  for  the  moment  deserted,  of  setting  the  chairs 
in  orderly  rows  as  in  a  chapel,  and  then  preaching 
to  them  solemnly  on  the  relative  merits  of  King 
Solomon  and  Hiram,  King  of  Tyre. 

His  partner,  Jess  Hogue,  was  the  brains  of  the 
nefarious  trio,  a  dark,  raw-boned  brute  with  an  ugly, 
square-jawed,  domineering  face,  a  bellow  like  a  bull's, 
and  all  the  crookedness  of  Bill  Williams  without  his 
redeeming  wit.  His  record  of  achievement  covered 
a  broader  field  than  that  of  either  of  his  associates, 
for  it  began  with  a  sub-contract  on  the  New  York 
water  system,  involved  him  with  the  United  States 
Government  in  connection  with  a  certain  "phan- 
tom mail  route"  between  Bismarck  and  Miles  City, 
and  started  him  on  the  road  to  affluence  with  the 
acquisition  of  twenty-eight  army  mules  which,  with 
the  aid  of  Bill  Williams  and  the  skillful  use  of  the 
peculiar  type  of  intelligence  with  which  they  both 
seemed  to  be  endowed,  he  had  secured  at  less  than 
cost  from  Fort  Abraham  Lincoln  at  Mandan. 

Associated  with  Williams,  Hogue,  and  Maunders, 
in  their  various  ventures,  was  a  man  of  thirty-eight 
or  forty  named  Paddock,  with  florid  cheeks,  and  a 
long,  dark  moustache  and  goatee  that  made  him 


U.  OF  Ibk  Ua 


52         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

look  something  like  Buffalo  Bill  and  something  like 
Simon  Legree.  He  conducted  the  local  livery-stable 
with  much  profit,  for  his  rates  were  what  was  known 
to  the  trade  as  "fancy,"  and  shared  with  Maunders 
whatever  glory  there  was  in  being  one  of  the  most 
feared  men  in  Little  Missouri.  Like  Maunders,  he 
had  his  defenders ;  and  he  had  a  pleasant-faced  wife 
who  gave  mute  tribute  to  a  side  of  Jerry  Paddock 
which  he  did  not  reveal  to  the  world. 

The  banks  of  the  Little  Missouri  in  those  days  of 
September,  1883,  were  no  place  for  soft  hands  or 
faint  hearts;  and  a  place  for  women  only  who  had 
the  tough  fiber  of  the  men.  There  were  scarcely  a 
half-dozen  of  them  in  all  the  Bad  Lands  up  and 
down  the  river.  In  Little  Missouri  there  were  four 
—  Mrs.  Roderick,  who  was  the  cook  at  the  Pyramid 
Park  Hotel;  Mrs.  Paddock,  wife  of  the  livery-stable 
keeper;  Mrs.  Pete  McGeeney  who  kept  a  boarding- 
house  next  to  Johnny  Nelson's  store;  and  her  neigh- 
bor and  eternal  enemy,  Mrs.  Fitzgerald.  Pete 
McGeeney  was  a  section-boss  on  the  railroad,  but 
what  else  he  was,  except  the  husband  of  Mrs. 
McGeeney,  is  obscure.  He  was  mildly  famous  in 
Little  Missouri  because  he  had  delirium  tremens, 
and  now  and  then  when  he  went  on  a  rampage  had 
to  be  lassoed.  Mrs.  McGeeney 's  feud  with  Mrs. 
Fitzgerald  was  famous  throughout  the  countryside. 
They  lived  within  fifty  feet  of  each  other,  which 
may  have  been  the  cause  of  the  extreme  bitterness 
between  them,  for  they  were  both  Irish  and  their 
tongues  were  sharp. 


ARCHIE  THE  PRECOCIOUS  53 

Little  Missouri  had,  until  now,  known  only  one 
child,  but  that  one  had  fully  lived  up  to  the  best 
traditions  of  the  community.  It  was  Archie  Maun- 
ders, his  father's  image  and  proudest  achievement. 
At  the  age  of  twelve  he  held  up  Fitzgerald,  the 
roadmaster,  at  the  point  of  a  pistol,  and  more  than 
once  delayed  the  departure  of  the  Overland  Express 
by  shooting  around  the  feet  of  the  conductors. 

Whether  he  was  still  the  waiter  at  the  Pyramid 
Park  Hotel  when  Roosevelt  arrived  there  is  dark, 
for  it  was  sometime  that  autumn  that  a  merciful 
God  took  Archie  Maunders  to  him  before  he  could 
grow  into  the  fullness  of  his  powers.  He  was  only 
thirteen  or  fourteen  years  old  when  he  died,  but  even 
the  guidebook  of  the  Northern  Pacific  had  taken  no- 
tice of  him,  recounting  the  retort  courteous  he  had 
delivered  on  one  occasion  when  he  was  serving  the 
guests  at  the  hotel. 

**  Tea  or  coffee?  "  he  asked  one  of  the  "  dudes  " 
who  had  come  in  on  the  Overland. 

"  I'll  take  tea,  if  you  please,"  responded  the  ten- 
derfoot. 

"  You  blinkety  blank  son  of  a  blank!  "  remarked 
Archie,  **  you'll  take  coffee  or  I'll  scald  you!  " 

The  "  dude  "  took  coffee. 

His  **  lip  "  was,  indeed,  phenomenal,  and  one  day 
when  he  aimed  it  at  Darius  Vine  (who  was  not 
a  difficult  mark),  that  individual  bestirred  his  two 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  and  set  about  to  thrash 
him.  Archie  promptly  drew  his  "  six-shooter,"  and 
as  Darius,  who  was   not  conspicuous  for  courage. 


54         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

fled  toward  the  Cantonment,  Archie  followed, 
shooting  about  his  ears  and  his  heels.  Darius 
reached  his  brother's  store,  nigh  dead,  just  in  time 
to  slam  the  door  in  Archie's  face.  Archie  shot 
through  the  panel  and  brought  Darius  down  with 
a  bullet  in  his  leg. 

Archie's  "  gayety "  with  his  "  six-shooter " 
seemed  to  stir  no  emotion  in  his  father  except  pride. 
But  when  Archie  finally  began  to  shoot  at  his  own 
brother,  Jake  Maunders  mildly  protested.  "  Golly, 
golly,"  he  exclaimed,  "  don't  shoot  at  your  brother. 
If  you  want  to  shoot  at  anybody,  shoot  at  somebody 
outside  the  family." 

Whether  or  not  the  boy  saw  the  reasonableness 
of  this  paternal  injunction  is  lost  in  the  dust  of  the 
years.  But  the  aphorism  that  the  good  die  young 
has  no  significance  so  far  as  Archie  Maunders  is 
concerned. 

The  lawless  element  was  altogether  in  the  major- 
ity in  the  Bad  Lands  and  thieving  was  common  up 
and  down  the  river  and  in  the  heart  of  the  settle- 
ment itself.  Maunders  himself  was  too  much  of  a 
coward  to  steal,  too  politic  not  to  realize  the  dis- 
advantage in  being  caught  red-handed.  Bill  Wil- 
liams was  not  above  picking  a  purse  when  a 
reasonably  safe  occasion  offered,  but  as  a  rule,  like 
Maunders,  he  and  his  partner  Hogue  contrived  to 
make  some  of  the  floaters  and  fly-by-nights,  fugi- 
tives from  other  communities,  do  the  actual  stealing. 

Maunders  ruled  by  the  law  of  the  bully,  and 
most  men  took  him  at  the  valuation  of  his  "  bluff." 


COUNTY  ORGANIZATION  55 

But  his  attempt  to  intimidate  Mrs.  McGeeney  was 
a  rank  failure.  One  of  his  hogs  Wandered  south 
across  the  railroad  track  and  invaded  Mrs.  Mc- 
Geeney's  vegetable  garden;  whereupon,  to  dis- 
courage repetition,  she  promptly  scalded  it. 
Maunders,  discovering  the  injury  to  his  property, 
charged  over  to  Mrs.  McGeeney 's  house  with  blood 
in  his  eyes.  She  was  waiting  for  him  with  a  butcher- 
knife  in  her  hand. 

"  Come  on,  ye  damn  bully!  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Come  on!    I'm  ready  for  ye!  " 

Maunders  did  not  accept  the  invitation,  and 
thereafter  gave  Mrs.  McGeeney  a  wide  berth. 

There  had  been  talk  early  in  1883  of  organizing 
Billings  County  in  which  Little  Missouri  was  situ- 
ated. The  stimulus  toward  this  project  had  come 
from  Jake  Maunders,  Bill  Williams,  and  Hogue, 
backed  by  the  unholy  aggregation  of  saloon  rats 
and  floaters  who  customarily  gathered  around  them. 
Merrifield  and  the  Ferrises,  who  had  taken  the  first 
steps  in  the  community  toward  the  reign  of  law 
when  they  had  refused  to  buy  stolen  horses,  were 
heartily  anxious  to  secure  some  form  of  organized 
government,  for  they  had  no  sympathy  with  the 
lawlessness  that  made  the  settlement  a  perilous 
place  for  honest  men.  But  they  were  wise  enough 
to  see  that  the  aim  of  Jake  Maunders  and  his  crew 
in  organizing  the  county  was  not  the  establishment 
of  law  and  order,  but  the  creation  of  machinery  for 
taxation  on  which  they  could  wax  fat.  The  Maltese 
Cross  group  therefore  objected  strenuously  to  any 


56         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

attempt  on  the  part  of  the  other  group  to  force 
the  organization  of  the  county.  Merrifield,  Sylvane 
and  Joe,  and  two  or  three  ranchmen  and  cowboys  who 
gathered  around  them,  among  them  Gregor  Lang 
and  Bill  Dantz  (an  attractive  youngster  of  eight- 
een who  had  a  ranch  half  a  dozen  miles  south  of 
the  Maltese  Cross),  were  in  the  minority,  but  they 
were  respected  and  feared,  and  in  the  face  of  their 
opposition  even  such  high-handed  scoundrels  as 
Maunders,  Hogue,  and  Williams  developed  a  vein 
of  caution. 

Meanwhile  public  safety  was  preserved  in  ways 
that  were  not  altogether  lawful,  but  were  well 
known  to  all  who  lived  in  frontier  communities. 

"Many  is  the  man  that's  cleared  that  bend  west 
of  Little  Missouri  with  bullets  following  his  heels," 
said  Merrifield,  years  after.  "  That's  the  way  we 
had  of  getting  rid  of  people  we  didn't  like.  There 
was  no  court  procedure,  just  a  notice  to  get  out  of 
town  and  a  lot  of  bullets,  and,  you  bet,  they  got 
out." 

Little  Missouri's  leading  citizens  were  a  wild 
crew,  but  with  all  their  violence  and  their  villainy, 
they  were  picturesque  beings,  and  were  by  no  means 
devoid  of  redeeming  traits.  Frank  Vine,  who  evi- 
dently thought  nothing  of  robbing  his  employers 
and  was  drunk  more  than  half  the  time,  had  an 
equable  temper  which  nothing  apparently  could 
ruffle,  and  a  good  heart  to  which  no  one  in  trouble 
ever  seemed  to  appeal  in  vain.  Mrs.  McGeeney 
was  a  very  "  Lady  of  the  Lamp  "  when  any  one  was 


THE  GRACES  OF  THE  WICKED  57 

sick.  Even  Maunders  had  his  graces.  Roosevelt 
could  not  have  Hved  among  them  a  week  without 
experiencing  a  new  understanding  of  the  incon- 
sistencies that  battle  with  each  other  in  the  making 
of  men's  lives. 


IV 

No,  he  was  not  like  other  men. 

He  fought  at  Acre  (what's  the  date?), 
Died,  and  somehow  got  born  again 

Seven  hundred  years  too  late. 

It  wasn't  that  he  hitched  his  wagon 
To  stars  too  wild  to  heed  his  will  — 

He  was  just  old  Sir  Smite-the-dragon 
Pretending  he  was  J.  J.  Hill. 

And  always  when  the  talk  was  cattle 
And  rates  and  prices,  selling,  buying, 

I  reckon  he  was  dreaming  battle. 
And,  somewhere,  grandly  dying. 

From  Medora  Nights 

The  inhabitants  of  "  Little  Misery  "  who  regarded 
law  as  a  potential  ball-and-chain  were  doing  a  thriv- 
ing business  by  one  crooked  means  or  another  and 
looked  with  uneasiness  upon  the  coming  of  the 
cattlemen.  There  were  wails  and  threats  that 
autumn  in  Bill  Williams's  saloon  over  "  stuck-up 
tenderfeet,  shassayin'  'rounds  drivin'  in  cattle  and 
chasin'  out  game." 

"  Maunders  disliked  Roosevelt  from  the  first," 
said  Bill  Dantz.  "  He  had  no  personal  grudge 
against  him,  but  he  disliked  him  for  what  he 
represented.  Maunders  had  prospered  under  the 
loose  and  lawless  customs  of  the  Northwest,  and 
he  shied  at  any  man  who  he  thought  might  try  to 
interfere  with  them." 

The  coming  of  the  Marquis  de  Mores  six  months 
previous  had  served  greatly  to  heighten  Maunders's 


MARQUIS  DE  MORES  59 

personal  prestige  and  to  strengthen  the  lawless 
elements.  For  the  Marquis  was  attracted  by  Jake's 
evident  power,  and,  while  he  drew  the  crafty 
schemer  into  his  inner  counsels,  was  himself  drawn 
into  a  subtle  net  that  was  yet  to  entangle  both 
men  in  forces  stronger  than  either. 

When  one  day  in  March,  1883,  a  striking  young 
Frenchman,  who  said  he  was  a  nobleman,  came  to 
Little  Missouri  with  a  plan  ready-made  to  build  a 
community  there  to  rival  Omaha,  and  a  business 
that  would  startle  America's  foremost  financiers, 
the  citizens  of  the  wicked  little  frontier  settlement, 
who  thought  that  they  knew  all  the  possibilities  of 
"  tenderfeet  "  and  "  pilgrims  "  and  "  how-do-you- 
do-boys,"  admitted  in  some  bewilderment  that  they 
had  been  mistaken.  The  Frenchman's  name  was 
Antoine  de  Vallombrosa,  Marquis  de  Mores.  He 
was  a  member  of  the  Orleans  family,  son  of  a  duke, 
a  "  white  lily  of  France,"  remotely  in  line  for  the 
throne;  an  unusually  handsome  man,  tall  and 
straight,  black  of  hair  and  moustache,  twenty-five 
or  twenty-six  years  old,  athletic,  vigorous,  and 
commanding.  He  had  been  a  French  officer,  a 
graduate  of  the  French  military  school  of  Saint  Cyr, 
and  had  come  to  America  following  his  marriage 
abroad  with  Medora  von  Hoffman,  the  daughter  of 
a  wealthy  New  York  banker  of  German  blood. 
His  cousin,  Count  Fitz  James,  a  descendant  of  the 
Jacobin  exiles,  had  hunted  in  the  Bad  Lands  the 
year  previous,  returning  to  France  with  stories 
of  the  new  cattle  country  that  stirred  the  Marquis's 


6o         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

imagination.  He  was  an  adventurous  spirit.  "  He 
had  no  judgment,"  said  Merrifield,  "  but  he  was  a 
fighter  from  hell."  The  stories  of  life  on  the  frontier 
lured  him  as  they  had  lured  others,  but  the  dreams 
that  came  to  him  were  more  complex  and  expensive 
dreams  than  those  which  came  to  the  other  young 
men  who  turned  toward  Dakota  in  those  early 
eighties. 

The  Marquis  arrived  in  Little  Missouri  with  his 
father-in-law's  millions  at  his  back  and  a  letter  of 
introduction  to  Howard  Eaton  in  his  pocket.  The 
letter,  from  a  prominent  business  man  in  the  East, 
ended,  it  seemed  to  Eaton,  rather  vaguely:  "  I 
don't  know  what  experience  he  has  had  in  business 
or  anything  of  that  kind,  but  he  has  some  large 
views." 

The  Marquis  enthusiastically  unfolded  these 
views.  "I  am  going  to  build  an  abattoir,  I  am  going 
to  buy  all  the  beef,  sheep,  and  hogs  that  come  over 
the  Northern  Pacific,  and  I  am  going  to  slaughter 
them  here  and  then  ship  them  to  Chicago  and  the 
East." 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  any  idea  how  much 
stock  comes  over  the  Northern  Pacific,"  Eaton 
remarked. 

"  It  doesn't  matter!  "  cried  the  Marquis.  "  My 
father-in-law  has  ten  million  dollars  and  can  borrow 
ten  million  dollars  more.  I've  got  old  Armour  and 
the  rest  of  them  matched  dollar  for  dollar." 

Eaton  said  to  himself  that  unquestionably  th^ 
Marquis's  views  were  "  large." 


FOUNDING  OF  MEDORA  6i 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  Impractical  ?  "  the  Marquis 
went  on.  "  I  am  not  Impractical.  My  plan  Is 
altogether  feasible.  I  do  not  merely  think  this.  I 
know.  My  Intuition  tells  me  so.  I  pride  myself  on 
having  a  natural  Intuition.  It  takes  me  only  a  few 
seconds  to  understand  a  situation  that  other  men 
have  to  puzzle  over  for  hours.  I  seem  to  see  every 
side  of  a  question  at  once.  I  assure  you,  I  am  gifted 
in  this  way.    I  have  wonderful  insight." 

But  Eaton  said  to  himself,  "  I  wonder  if  the 
Marquis  isn't  raising  his  sights  too  high?  " 

The  Marquis  formed  the  Northern  Pacific  Refrig- 
erator Car  Company  with  two  brothers  named 
Haupt  as  his  partners  and  guides;  and  plunged  into 
his  dream  as  a  boy  Into  a  woodland  pool.  But  It 
did  not  take  him  long  to  discover  that  the  water 
was  cold.  Frank  Vine  offered  to  sell  out  the  Little 
Missouri  Land  and  Cattle  Company  to  him  for 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars,  and  when  the  Mar- 
quis, discovering  that  Frank  had  nothing  to  sell  ex- 
cept a  hazy  title  to  a  group  of  ramshackle  buildings, 
refused  to  buy,  Frank's  employers  Intimated  to  the 
Marquis  that  there  was  no  room  for  the  de  Mores  en- 
terprises in  Little  Missouri.  The  Marquis  responded 
by  buying  what  was  known  as  Valentine  scrip,  or  sol- 
diers' rights,  to  the  flat  on  the  other  side  of  the  river 
and  six  square  miles  around  it,  with  the  determina- 
tion of  literally  wiping  Little  Missouri  off  the  map. 
On  April  Fool's  Day,  1883  —  auspicious  date!  —  he 
pitched  his  tent  In  the  sagebrush  and  founded  the 
town  of  Medora. 


62         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

The  population  of  Little  Missouri  did  not  exhibit 
any  noticeable  warmth  toward  him  or  his  dream. 
The  hunters  did  not  like  "  dudes  "  of  any  sort,  but 
foreign  "  dudes "  were  particularly  objectionable 
to  them.  His  plans,  moreover,  struck  at  the  heart 
of  their  free  and  untrammeled  existence.  As  long 
as  they  could  live  by  what  their  guns  brought 
down,  they  were  independent  of  the  machinery  of 
civilization.  The  coming  of  cattle  and  sheep  meant 
the  flight  of  antelope  and  deer.  Hunters,  to  live, 
would  have  to  buy  and  sell  like  common  folk.  That 
meant  stores  and  banks,  and  these  in  time  meant 
laws  and  police-officers;  and  police-officers  meant 
the  collapse  of  Paradise.    It  was  all  wrong.  ' 

The  Marquis  recognized  that  he  had  stepped  in 
where,  previously,  angels  had  feared  to  tread.  It 
occurred  to  him  that  it  would  be  the  part  of  wisdom 
to  conciliate  Little  Missouri's  hostile  population. 
He  began  with  the  only  man  who,  in  that  unstable 
community,  looked  solid,  and  appealed  to  Gregor 
Lang,  suggesting  a  union  of  forces.  Lang,  who 
did  not  like  the  grandiose  Frenchman,  bluntly  re- 
fused to  entertain  the  idea. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  the  Marquis  with  a  sincerity 
which  was  attractive  and  disarming.  "  I  desire  to 
be  friends  with  every  man." 

The  Marquis's  efforts  to  win  supporters  were  not 
altogether  without  success,  for  the  liveryman,  Jerry 
Paddock,  became  his  foreman,  and  Jake  Maunders, 
evidently  seeing  in  the  noble  Frenchman  one  of  those 
gifts  from  the  patron  saint  of  crooked  men  which 


THE  MACHINATIONS  OF  MAUNDERS    63 

come  to  a  knave  only  once  in  a  lifetime,  attached  him- 
self to  him  and  became  his  closest  adviser.  Maun- 
ders, as  one  who  had  known  him  well  remarked  long 
afterwards,  "was  too  crooked  to  sleep  in  a  round- 
house." Whether  he  set  about  deliberately  to  secure 
a  hold  on  the  Marquis,  which  the  Marquis  could 
never  shake  off,  is  a  secret  locked  away  with  Maun- 
ders underground.  If  he  did,  he  was  more  success- 
ful than  wiser  men  have  been  in  their  endeavors. 
Insidiously  he  drew  the  Marquis  into  a  quarrel,  in 
which  he  himself  was  involved,  with  a  hunter  named 
Frank  O' Donald  and  his  two  friends,  John  Renter, 
known  as  "  Dutch  Wannigan,"  and  Riley  LufTsey. 
He  was  a  crafty  lago,  and  the  Marquis,  born  in  a 
rcse-garden  and  brought  up  in  a  hot-house,  was 
guileless  and  trusting.  Incidentally,  the  Marquis 
was  "land  hungry"  and  not  altogether  tactful  in 
regarding  the  rights  of  others.  Maunders  carried 
bloodcurdling  tales  from  the  Marquis  to  0' Donald 
and  back  again,  until,  as  Howard  Eaton  remarked, 
"every  one  got  nervous." 

"  What  shall  I  do?  "  the  Marquis  asked  Maunders, 
unhappily,  when  Maunders  reported  that  0' Donald 
was  preparing  for  hostilities. 

"Look  out,"  answered  Maunders,  "and  have  the 
first  shot." 

The  Marquis  went  to  Mandan  to  ask  the  local 
magistrate  for  advice.  "There  is  the  situation," 
he  said.    "What  shall  I  do?" 

"Why,  shoot,"  was  the  judicial  reply. 

He  started  to  return  to  the  center  of  hostilities. 


64         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

A  friend  protested.  "  You'll  get  shot  if  you  go  down 
there,"  he  declared. 

The  Frenchman  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  But 
I  have  got  to  go." 

"Now,  why  do  you  have  to  go?" 

"Why,"  replied  the  Marquis,  "William  is  there. 
He  is  my  valet.  His  father  was  my  father's  valet, 
and  his  grandfather  was  my  grandfather's  valet. 
I  cannot  leave  William  in  the  lurch." 

Whereupon,  smiling  his  engaging  smile,  he  boarded 
the  westbound  express. 

What  followed  is  dead  ashes,  that  need  not  be 
raked  over.  Just  west  of  the  town  where  the  trail 
ran  along  the  railroad  track,  the  Marquis  and  his 
men  fired  at  the  hunters  from  cover.  0' Donald  and 
"Wannigan"  were  wounded,  Riley  was  killed. 
Maunders,  claiming  that  the  hunters  had  started 
the  shooting,  charged  them  with  manslaughter,  and 
had  them  arrested. 

The  excitement  in  the  little  settlement  was  in- 
tense. Gregor  Lang  was  outspoken  in  his  indig- 
nation against  the  Marquis,  and  the  few  law-abiding 
citizens  rallied  around  him.  The  Marquis  was  ar- 
rested and  acquitted,  but  O'Donald  and  "Dutch 
Wannigan"  were  kept  under  lock  and  key.  The 
better  element  in  Little  Missouri  snorted  in  indigna- 
tion and  disgust,  but  for  the  moment  there  was  no- 
thing to  be  done  about  it.  The  excitement  subsided. 
Riley  Luffsey  slept  undisturbed  on  Graveyard  Butte; 
the  Marquis  took  up  again  the  amazing  activities 
which  the  episode  of  the  quarrel  had  interrupted; 


"DUTCH  WANNIGAN"  (LEFT)  AND 
FRANK  O 'DONALD 


SCENE  OF  THE  KILLING  OF  RILEY  LUFFSEY 
June  26,1883 


THE  BOOM  BEGINS  65 

and  Maunders,  his  mentor,  flourished  Hke  the  green 
bay  tree.  It  was  said  that  "  after  the  murder, 
Maunders  could  get  anything  he  wanted  out  of  the 
Marquis";  so,  from  his  point  of  view,  the  whole 
affair  had  been  eminently  successful. 
All  this  was  in  the  summer  of  1883. 

For  all  their  violence  and  lawlessness  there  was  no 
denying,  meanwhile,  that  the  settlements  on  both 
sides  of  the  river,  roughly  known  as  Little  Missouri, 
were  beginning  to  flourish,  and  to  catch  the  atten- 
tion of  a  curious  world. 

The  Mandan  Pioneer  spoke  of  surprising  im- 
provements; and  even  the  Dickinson  Press,  which 
was  published  forty  miles  to  the  east  and  which  as  a 
rule  regarded  Little  Missouri  as  an  outrageous  but 
interesting  blot  on  the  map  of  Dakota,  was  betrayed 
into  momentary  enthusiasm. 

This  town,  situated  in  Pyramid  Park  on  the  banks 
of  the  Little  Missouri  River  and  surrounded  by  the 
Bad  Lands  with  their  fine  scenery,  is,  at  the  present 
time,  one  of  the  most  prosperous  and  rapidly  growing 
towns  along  the  line  of  the  Northern  Pacific.  New 
buildings  of  every  description  are  going  up  as  fast  as 
a  large  force  of  carpenters  can  do  the  work  and  an  air 
of  business  and  enterprise  is  apparent  that  would  do 
honor  to  many  an  older  town. 

The  "  personals  "  that  follow  give  a  glimpse  Into 
the  Little  Missouri  of  which  Roosevelt  was  a.  part 
during  that  third  week  of  September,  1883. 


66         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

NOTES 

Business  booms. 

J.  H.  Butler  is  right  on  sight. 

[McGeeneyJ  and  Walker  are  doing  a  good  business. 

Geo.  Fitzpatrick  is  doing  a  rushing  business. 

J.  B.  Walker  takes  a  good  share  of  trade. 

Anderson's  restaurant  refreshes  the  inner  man. 

Frank  [Vine]  rents  the  soldiers'  quarters  to  tourists. 

[P.  McGeeney]  will  have  a  fine  hotel  when  it  is  com- 
pleted. 

We  found  the  Marquis  de  Mores  a  pleasant  gentleman. 

Little  Missouri  will  double  her  population  before 
spring. 

The  new  depot  will  be  soon  completed  and  will  be  a 
good  one. 

It  is  worth  remarking  that  Butler,  McGeeney, 
Walker,  Fitzpatrick,  Anderson,  and  Frank  Vine  all 
conducted  bars  of  one  description  or  another.  The 
"  business  "  which  is  "  booming  "  in  the  first  line, 
therefore,  seems  to  have  been  exclusively  the  busi- 
ness of  selling  and  consuming  liquor.    * 

There  is  one  further  item  in  those  "  Notes  ": 

L.  D.  Rumsey,  of  Bufifalo,  N.Y.,  recently  returned 
from  a  hunting  expedition  with  Frank  O'Donald.  Frank 
is  a  good  hunter  and  thoroughly  posted  about  the 
country. 

For  the  bloodthirsty  desperado,  by  whose  un- 
conscious aid  Maunders  had  contrived  to  get  the 
Marquis  into  his  power,  was  back  in  the  Bad 
Lands,  earning  his  living  by  hunting  as  he  had 
earned  it  before  the  fatal  June  26th  when  the  Mar- 


THE  MARQUIS  IN  BUSINESS  67 

quis  lost  his  head.  There  had  been  a  "  reconcilia- 
tion." When  O'Donald  had  returned  to  Little 
Missouri  from  his  sojourn  in  the  Mandan  jail,  he 
had  been  without  money,  and,  as  the  Mandan 
Pioneer  explained,  "  the  Marquis  helped  him  out 
by  buying  the  hay  on  his  ranch  *  in  stubble.'  "  He 
bought  the  hay,  it  was  rumored,  far  the  sum  of  one 
thousand  dollars,  which  was  high  for  hay  which 
would  not  begin  growing  for  another  eight  months. 
But  the  "  reconciliation  "  was  complete. 

If  Roosevelt  met  the  Marquis  during  the  week 
he  spent  in  Little  Missouri,  that  September,  there 
is  no  record  of  that  meeting.  The  Marquis  was 
here,  there,  and  everywhere,  for  the  stately  house  he 
was  building,  on  a  grassy  hill  southward  and  across 
the  river  from  his  new  "  town,"  was  not  yet  com- 
pleted, and  he  was,  moreover,  never  inclined  to  stay 
long  on  one  spot,  rushing  to  Miles  City  or  St.  Paul, 
to  Helena  or  to  Chicago,  at  a  moment's  notice,  in 
pursuit  of  one  or  the  other  of  his  expensive  dreams. 

The  Haupt  brothers,  it  was  said,  were  finding 
their  senior  partner  somewhat  of  a  care.  He  bought 
steers,  and  found,  when  he  came  to  sell  them  as 
beef,  that  he  had  bought  them  at  too  high  a  price; 
he  bought  cows  and  found  that  the  market  would 
not  take  cow-meat  at  all.  Thereupon  (lest  the  cold 
facts  which  he  had  acquired  concerning  cattle  should 
rob  him  of  the  luxury  of  spacious  expectations)  he 
bought  five  thousand  dollars  worth  of  broncos.  He 
would  raise  horses,  he  declared,  on  an  unprecedented 
scale. 


68         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

The  horses  had  barely  arrived  when  the  Marquis 
announced  that  he  intended  to  raise  sheep  also. 
The  Haupt  brothers  protested,  but  the  Marquis  was 
not  to  be  diverted. 

The  hunters  and  cattlemen  looked  on  in  anger 
and  disgust  as  sheep  and  ever  more  sheep  began  to 
pour  into  the  Bad  Lands.  They  knew,  what  the 
Marquis  did  not  know,  that  sheep  nibble  the  grass 
so  closely  that  they  kill  the  roots,  and  ruin  the 
pasture  for  cattle  and  game.  He  tempered  their 
indignation  somewhat  by  offering  a  number  of  them 
a  form  of  partnership  in  his  enterprise.  "His  plan," 
says  the  guidebook  of  the  Northern  Pacific,  pub- 
lished that  summer  of  1883,  "is  to  engage  experi- 
enced herders  to  the  number  of  twenty-four,  supply 
them  with  as  many  sheep  as  they  may  desire,  and 
provide  all  necessary  buildings  and  funds  to  carry 
on  operations  for  a  period  of  seven  years.  At  the 
end  of  this  time  a  division  of  the  increase  of  the 
flocks  is  to  be  made,  from  which  alone  the  Marquis 
is  to  derive  his  profits." 

There  was  no  one  in  the  Bad  Lands,  that  summer 
of  1883,  who,  if  asked  whether  he  knew  anything 
about  business  or  live  stock  or  the  laws  of  sidereal 
space,  would  not  have  claimed  that  he  knew  all 
that  it  was  necessary  for  any  man  to  know.  The 
Marquis  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  desired 
twenty-four.  Each  signed  a  solemn  contract  with 
him  and  let  the  sheep  wander  where  they  listed, 
eating  mutton  with  relish  and  complaining  to  the 
Marquis  of  the  depredations  of  the  coyotes. 


ROOSEVELT  RETURNS  EAST  69 

One  who  was  more  honest  than  the  rest  went  to 
Herman  Haupt  at  the  end  of  August  and  drew  his 
attention  to  the  fact  that  many  of  the  wethers  and 
ewes  were  so  old  that  they  had  no  teeth  to  nibble 
with  and  were  bound  to  die  of  starvation.  Haupt 
rode  from  ranch  to  ranch  examining  the  herds  and 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  six  thousand  out  of 
twelve  were  too  old  to  survive  under  the  best 
conditions,  and  telegraphed  the  Marquis  to  that 
effect,  advising  that  they  be  slaughtered  at  once. 

The  answer  of  the  Marquis  was  prompt.  "  Don't 
kill  any  sheep,"  it  ran.  Haupt  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  By  the  time  Roosevelt  left  Little  Mis- 
souri the  end  of  September,  the  sheep  were  already 
beginning,  one  by  one,  to  perish.  But  by  this 
time  the  Marquis  was  absorbed  in  a  new  undertak- 
ing and  was  making  arrangements  to  ship  untold 
quantities  of  buffalo-meat  and  other  game  on  his 
refrigerator  cars  to  Eastern  markets,  unaware 
that  a  certain  young  man  with  spectacles  had 
just  shot  one  of  the  last  buffalo  that  the  inhabitants 
of  Little  Missouri  were  ever  destined  to  see. 

Roosevelt,  learning  a  great  deal  about  the  ways 
of  men  who  are  civilized  too  little  and  men  who  are 
civilized  too  much,  spent  a  week  waiting  in  Little 
Missouri  and  roundabout  for  word  from  Merrifield 
and  Sylvane.  It  came  at  last  in  a  telegram  saying 
that  Wadsworth  and  Halley  had  given  them  a 
release  and  that  they  were  prepared  to  enter  into 
a  new  partnership.  Roosevelt  started  promptly  for 
St.  Paul,  and  on  September  27th  signed  a  contract^ 

*  See  Appendix. 


70        ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

with  the  two  Canadians.  Sylvane  and  Merrifield 
thereupon  went  East  to  Iowa,  to  purchase  three 
hundred  head  of  cattle  in  addition  to  the  hundred 
and  fifty  which  they  had  taken  over  from  Wadsworth 
and  Halley;  while  Roosevelt,  who  a  little  less  than 
three  weeks  previous  had  dropped  off  the  train  at 
Little  Missouri  for  a  hunt  and  nothing  more,  took 
up  again  the  sober  threads  of  life. 

He  returned  East  to  his  lovely  young  wife  and  a 
campaign  for  a  third  term  in  the  New  York  Legis- 
lature, stronger  in  body  than  he  had  ever  felt  before. 
If  he  expected  that  his  family  would  think  as  highly 
of  his  cattle  venture  as  he  did  himself,  he  was 
doomed  to  disappointment.  Those  members  of  it 
whom  he  could  count  on  most  for  sincere  solicitude 
for  his  welfare  were  most  emphatic  in  their  dis- 
approval. They  considered  his  investment  fool- 
hardy, and  said  so.  Uncle  James  and  the  other 
business  men  of  the  family  simply  threw  up  their 
hands  in  despair.  His  sisters,  who  admired  him 
enormously  and  had  confidence  in  his  judgment, 
were  frankly  worried.  Pessimists  assured  him  that 
his  cattle  would  die  like  flies  during  the  winter. 

He  lost  no  sleep  for  apprehensions. 

Little  Missouri,  meanwhile,  was  cultivating  the 
air  of  one  who  is  conscious  of  imminent  greatness. 
The  Marquis  was  extending  his  business  in  a  way 
to  stir  the  imagination  of  any  community.  In 
Miles  City  he  built  a  slaughter-house,  in  Billings 
he  built  another.  He  established  ofifices  in  St.  Paul, 
in  Brainerd,  in  Duluth.   He  built  refrigerator  plants 


THE  MARQUIS'S  IDEA  71 

and  storehouses  in  Mandan  and  Bismarck  and 
Vedalles  and  Portland. 

His  plan,  on  the  surface,  was  practical.  It  was 
to  slaughter  on  the  range  the  beef  that  was  consumed 
along  the  Northern  Pacific  Railway,  west  of  St.  Paul. 
The  Marquis  argued  that  to  send  a  steer  on  the  hoof 
from  Medora  to  Chicago  and  then  to  send  it  back  in 
the  form  of  beef  to  Helena  or  Portland  was  sheer 
waste  of  the  consumer's  money  in  freight  rates.  A 
steer,  traveling  for  days  in  a  crowded  cattle-car, 
moreover,  had  a  way  of  shrinking  ten  per  cent  in 
weight.  It  was  more  expensive,  furthermore,  to  ship 
a  live  steer  than  a  dead  one.  Altogether,  the  scheme 
appeared  to  the  Marquis  as  a  heaven-sent  inspira- 
tion; and  cooler-headed  business  men  than  he  ac- 
cepted it  as  practical.  The  cities  along  the  Northern 
Pacific  acclaimed  it  enthusiastically,  hoping  that  it 
meant  cheaper  beef;  and  presented  the  company 
that  was  exploiting  it  with  all  the  land  it  wanted. 

The  Marquis  might  have  been  forgiven  if,  in  the 
midst  of  the  cheering,  he  had  strutted  a  bit.  But 
he  did  not  strut.  The  newspapers  spoke  of  his 
"  modest  bearing  "  as  he  appeared  in  hotel  corridors 
in  Washington  and  St.  Paul  and  New  York,  with  a 
lady  whose  hair  was  "  Titan-red,"  as  the  Pioneer 
Press  of  St.  Paul  had  it,  and  who,  it  was  rumored, 
was  a  better  shot  than  the  Marquis.  He  had  great 
charm,  and  there  was  something  engaging  in  the 
perfection  with  which  he  played  the  grand  seigneur. 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  go  into  this  sort  of 
business?  "  he  was  asked. 


72         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

"  I  wanted  something  to  do,"  he  answered. 

In  view  of  the  fact  that  before  his  first  abattoir 
was  in  operation  he  had  spent  upwards  of  three 
hundred  thousand  dollars,  an  impartial  observer 
might  have  remarked  that  his  desire  for  activity 
was  expensive. 

Unquestionably  the  Marquis  had  made  an  Im- 
pression on  the  Northwest  country.  The  hints  he 
threw  out  concerning  friends  in  Paris  who  were 
eager  to  invest  five  million  dollars  in  Billings  County 
were  sufficient  to  cause  palpitation  in  more  than  one 
Dakota  bosom.  The  Marquis  promised  telephone 
lines  up  and  down  the  river  and  other  civic  improve- 
ments that  were  dazzling  to  the  imagination  and 
stimulating  to  the  price  of  building  lots;  and 
implanted  firmly  in  the  minds  of  the  inhabitants 
of  Medora  the  idea  that  in  ten  years  their  city 
would  rival  Omaha.  Meanwhile,  Little  Missouri 
and  the  "boomtown"  were  leading  an  existence 
which  seemed  to  ricochet  back  and  forth  between 
Acadian  simplicity  and  the  livid  sophistication  of 
a  mining-camp. 

"  Sheriff  Cuskelly  made  a  business  trip  to 
Little  Missouri,"  is  the  gist  of  countless  "  Notes  " 
in  the  Dickinson  Press,  "  and  reports  everything  as 
lively  at  the  town  on  the  Little  Muddy." 

Lively  it  was;  but  its  liveliness  was  not  all  thievery 
and  violence.  "  On  November  5th,"  the  Dickinson 
Press  announces,  "  the  citizens  of  Little  Missouri 
opened  a  school."  Whom  they  opened  it  for  Is 
dark  as  the  ancestry  of   Melchizedek.    But  from 


PACKARD  73 

somewhere  some  one  procured  a  teacher,  and  in  the 
saloons  the  cowboys  and  the  hunters,  the  horse- 
thieves  and  gamblers  and  fly-by-nights  and  painted 
ladies  "  chipped  in  "  to  pay  his  "  board  and  keep." 
The  charm  of  this  outpouring  of  dollars  in  the 
cause  of  education  is  not  dimmed  by  the  fact  that 
the  school-teacher,  in  the  middle  of  the  first  term, 
discovered  a  more  profitable  form  of  activity  and 
deserted  his  charges  to  open  a  saloon. 

Late  in  November  a  man  of  a  different  sort  blew 
into  town.  His  name  was  A.  T.  Packard.  He 
w^as  joyously  young,  like  almost  every  one  else  in 
Little  Missouri,  except  Maunders  and  Paddock 
and  Captain  Vine,  having  graduated  from  the 
University  of  Michigan  only  a  year  before.  He 
drifted  westward,  and,  having  a  taste  for  things 
literary,  became  managing  editor  of  the  Bismarck 
Tribune.  Bismarck  was  lurid  in  those  days,  and 
editing  a  newspaper  there  meant  not  only  writing 
practically  everything  in  it,  including  the  advertise- 
ments, but  also  persuading  the  leading  citizens  by 
main  force  that  the  editor  had  a  right  to  say  what 
he  pleased.  Packard  had  been  an  athlete  in  college, 
and  his  eyes  gave  out  before  his  rule  had  been 
seriously  disputed.  After  throwing  sundry  pro- 
testing malefactors  downstairs,  he  resigned  and 
undertook  work  a  trifle  less  exacting  across  the 
Missouri  River,  on  the  Mandan  Pioneer. 

Packard  became  fascinated  with  the  tales  he 
heard  of  Little  Missouri  and  Medora  and,  being 
foot   loose,  drifted   thither  late  in  November.    It 


74         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

happened  that  Frank  Vine,  who  had  by  that  time 
been  deposed  as  agent  of  the  Gorringe  syndicate, 
was  running  the  Pyramid  Park  Hotel.  He  had  met 
Packard  in  Mandan  and  greeted  him  Hke  a  long- 
lost  brother.  As  the  newcomer  was  sitting  in  a 
corner  of  the  barroom  after  supper,  writing  home, 
Frank  came  up  and  bent  over  him. 

"  You  told  me  down  in  Mandan  that  you'd 
never  seen  an  honest- to-goodness  cowboy,"  he 
whispered.  "  See  that  fellow  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  bar?   Well,  that's  a  real  cowboy." 

Packard  looked  up.  The  man  was  standing  with 
his  back  toward  the  wall,  and  it  struck  the  tender- 
foot that  there  was  something  in  his  attitude  and 
in  the  look  in  his  eye  that  suggested  that  he  was 
on  the  watch  and  kept  his  back  to  the  wall  with  a 
purpose.  He  wore  the  paraphernalia  of  the  cowboy 
with  ease  and  grace. 

Packard  started  to  describe  him  to  his  "  folks  "  in 
distant  Indiana.  He  described  his  hat,  his  face,  his 
clothes,  his  shaps,  his  loosely  hanging  belt  with  the 
protruding  gun.  He  looked  up  and  studied  the  man; 
he  looked  down  and  wrote.  The  man  finally  became 
conscious  that  he  was  the  subject  of  study.  Packard 
observed  Frank  Vine  whisper  a  word  of  explanation. 

He  finished  his  letter  and  decided  to  take  it  to 
the  "  depot  "  and  ask  the  telegraph  operator  to 
mail  it  on  the  eastbound  train  that  passed  through 
Little  Missouri  at  three.  He  opened  the  door. 
The  night  was  black,  and  a  blast  of  icy  wind  greeted 
him.    He  changed  his  mind. 


FRANK  VINE'S  LITTLE  JOKE  75 

The  next  afiternoon  he  was  riding  up  the  river  to 
the  Maltese  Cross  when  he  heard  hoofs  behind  him. 
A  minute  later  the  object  of  his  artistic  efforts  of 
the  night  before  joined  him  and  for  an  hour  loped 
along  at  his  side.  He  was  not  slow  in  discovering 
that  the  man  was  pumping  him.  It  occurred  to 
him  that  turn-about  was  fair  play,  and  he  told  him 
all  the  man  wanted  to  know. 

"  So  you're  a  newspaper  feller,"  remarked  the 
man  at  length.  "That's  damn  funny.  But  I 
guess  it's  so  if  you  say  so.  You  see,"  he  added, 
"  Frank  Vine  he  said  you  was  a  deputy-sheriff  on 
the  lookout  for  a  horse-thief." 

Packard  felt  his  hair  rise  under  his  hat. 

"  Where  was  you  going  last  night  when  you 
started  to  go  out?  " 

"  To  the  telegraph-office." 

"  I  made  up  my  mind  you  was  going  to  telegraph." 

"  I  was  just  going  to  mail  a  letter." 

"  Well,  if  you'd  gone  I'd  have  killed  you." 

Packard  gasped  a  little.  Frank  Vine  was  a  joker 
with  a  vengeance.  They  rode  on,  talking  of  lighter 
matters.^ 

Packard  had  come  to  the  Bad  Lands  with  the 
idea  of  spending  the  winter  in  the  open,  hunting, 
but  he  was  a  newspaper  man  from  top  to  toe  and 
in  the  back  of  his  mind  there  was  a  notion  that  it 
would  be  a  good  deal  of  a  lark,  and  possibly  a  not 

^  A  year  later,  Packard,  as  Chief  of  Police,  officiated  at  what  was 
euphemistically  known  as  a  "  necktie  party  "  at  which  his  companion 
of  that  ride  was  the  guest  of  honor. 


76        ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

unprofitable  venture,  to  start  a  weekly  newspaper 
in  the  Marquis  de  Mores's  budding  metropolis.  He 
had,  at  the  tender  age  of  thirteen,  been  managing 
editor  of  a  country  newspaper,  owned  by  his  father, 
and  ever  since  had  been  drawn  again  and  again 
back  into  the  "  game  "  by  that  lure  which  few 
men  who  yield  to  it  are  ever  after  able  to  resist. 

He  broached  the  matter  to  the  Marquis.  That 
gentleman  was  patronizing,  but  agreed  that  a 
special  organ  might  prove  of  value  to  his  Company. 
He  offered  to  finance  the  undertaking. 

Packard  remarked  that  evidently  the  Marquis 
did  not  understand.  If  he  started  a  paper  it  would 
be  an  organ  for  nobody.  He  intended  to  finance  it 
himself  and  run  it  to  please  himself.  All  he  wanted 
was  a  building. 

The  Marquis,  a  little  miffed,  agreed  to  rent  him 
a  building  north  of  his  general  store  in  return  for  a 
weekly  advertisement  for  the  Company.  Packard 
ordered  his  type  and  his  presses  and  betook  himself 
to  the  solitude  of  the  wintry  buttes  to  think  of  a 
name  for  his  paper.  His  battle  was  half  won  when 
he  came  back  with  the  name  of  The  Bad  Lands 
Cowboy. 

His  first  issue  came  out  early  in  February,  1884. 
It  was  greeted  with  interest  even  by  so  mighty  a 
contemporary  as  the  New  York  Herald. 

We  hail  with  pleasure  the  birth  of  a  new  Dakota 
paper,  the  Bad  Lands  Cowboy  [runs  the  note  of  welcome]. 
The  Cowboy  is  really  a  neat  little  journal,  with  lots  to 
read  in  it,  and  the  American  press  has  every  reason  to  be 


^ 


MEDORA  BLOSSOMS  FORTH  ^-j 

proud  of  its  new  baby.  \A^e  are  quite  sure  it  will  live 
to  be  a  credit  to  the  family.  The  Cowboy  evidently 
means  business.  It  says  in  the  introductory  notice  to 
its  first  number  that  it  intends  to  be  the  leading  cattle 
paper  of  the  Northwest,  and  adds  that  it  is  not  published 
for  fun,  but  for  $2  a  year. 

All  the  autumn  and  winter  Medora  and  her  rival 
across  the  river  had  been  feverishly  competing  for 
supremacy.  But  Little  Missouri,  though  she  built 
ever  so  busily,  in  such  a  contest  had  not  a  chance 
in  the  world.  For  the  Little  Missouri  Land  and 
Stock  Compan^^  which  was  its  only  hope,  was 
moribund,  and  the  Marquis  was  playing,  in  a  sense, 
with  loaded  dice.  He  spoke  persuasively  to  the 
officials  of  the  Northern  Pacific  and  before  the 
winter  was  well  advanced  the  stop  for  express  trains 
was  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  river,  and  Little 
Missouri,  protest  as  she  would,  belonged  to  the  past. 
When  the  Cowboy  appeared  for  the  first  time, 
Medora  was  in  the  full  blaze  of  national  fame, 
having  "  broken  into  the  front  page  "  of  the  New 
York  Sun.  For  the  Marquis  w^as  bubbling  over 
with  pride  and  confidence,  and  the  tales  he  told  a 
credulous  interviewer  filled  a  column.  A  few  were 
based  on  fact,  a  few  w^ere  builded  on  the  nebulous 
foundation  of  hope,  and  a  few  were  sheer  romance. 
The  most  conspicuous  case  of  romance  was  a  story 
of  the  stage-line  from  Medora  to  the  prosperous  and 
wild  little  mining  town  of  Deadwood,  two  hundred 
miles  or  more  to  the  south. 

"  The  Marquis  had  observed,"  narrates  the  inter- 


78         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

viewer,  "  that  the  divide  on  the  top  of  the  ridge 
between  the  Little  Missouri  and  the  Missouri 
Rivers  was  almost  a  natural  roadway  that  led 
directly  toward  Deadwood.  He  gave  this  roadway 
needed  artificial  improvements,  and  started  the 
Deadwood  and  Medora  stage-line.  This  is  now 
diverting  the  Deadwood  trade  to  Medora,  to  the 
great  advantage  of  both  places." 

Who,  reading  that  sober  piece  of  information, 
would  have  dreamed  that  the  stage-line  in  question 
was  at  the  time  nothing  but  a  pious  hope? 

The  Dickinson  Press  was  blunt  in  its  comment. 
"  Stages  are  not  running  from  Medora  to  Dead- 
wood,"  it  remarked  editorially,  "  nor  has  the  road- 
way ever  been  improved.  The  Marquis  should  put 
a  curb  on  his  too  vivid  imagination  and  confine 
himself  a  little  more  strictly  to  facts." 

But  facts  were  not  the  things  on  which  a  nature 
like  de  Mores's  fed. 

His  sheep  meanwhile,  were  dying  by  hundreds 
every  week.  Of  the  twelve  thousand  he  had  turned 
loose  on  the  range  during  the  preceding  summer, 
half  were  dead  by  the  middle  of  January.  There 
were  rumors  that  rivals  of  the  Marquis  had  used 
poison. 

The  loss  [declared  a  dispatch  to  the  Minneapolis 
Journal]  can  be  accounted  for  on  no  other  ground.  It 
is  supposed  that  malicious  motives  prompted  the  deed, 
as  the  Marquis  is  known  to  have  had  enemies  since  the 
killing  of  Lufifsey. 

If  the  Marquis  took  any  stock   in  these  suspi- 


THE  MARQUIS  HAS  A  NEW  DREAM      79 

cions,  his  partners,  the  Haupt  brothers,  did  not. 
They  knew  that  it  was  a  physical  impossibihty  to 
poison  six  thousand  sheep  scattered  over  ten  thou- 
sand square  miles  of  snowbound  landscape. 

The  Haupts  were  by  this  time  thoroughly  out 
of  patience  with  de  Mores.  There  was  a  stormy 
meeting  of  the  directors  of  the  Northern  Pacific 
Refrigerator  Car  Company  in  St.  Paul,  in  the  course 
of  which  the  Haupt  brothers  told  their  distinguished 
senior  partner  exactly  what  they  thought  of  his 
business  ability;  and  suggested  that  the  Company 
go  into  liquidation. 

The  Marquis  jumped  to  his  feet  in  a  rage.  "  I 
won't  let  it  go  into  liquidation,"  he  cried.  "  My 
honor  is  at  stake.  I  have  told  my  friends  in  France 
that  I  would  do  so  and  so  and  so,  that  I  would 
make  money,  a  great  deal  of  money.  I  must  do  it. 
Or  where  am  I?  " 

The  Haupts  did  not  exactly  know.  They  com- 
promised with  the  Marquis  by  taking  the  bonds  of 
the  Company'  in  exchange  for  their  stock,  and  re- 
tired with  inner  jubilation  at  having  been  able  to 
withdraw  from  a  perilous  situation  with  skins  more 
or  less  intact. 

The  Marquis,  as  usual,  secreted  himself  from 
the  stern  eyes  of  Experience,  in  the  radiant  emana- 
tions of  a  new  dream.  The  Dickinson  Press  an- 
nounced it  promptly: 

The  Marquis  de  Mores  has  a  novel  enterprise  under 
way,  which  he  is  confident  will  prove  a  success,  it  being 
a  plan  to  raise  50,000  cabbages  on  his  ranch  at  the  Little 


8o         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Missouri,  and  have  them  ready  for  the  market  April  i. 
They  will  be  raised  under  glass  in  some  peculiar  French 
manner,  and  when  they  have  attained  a  certain  size, 
will  be  transplanted  into  individual  pots  and  forced 
rapidly  by  rich  fertilizers,  made  from  the  offal  of  the 
slaughter-houses  and  for  which  preparation  he  owns 
the  patent.  Should  the  cabbages  come  out  on  time,  he 
will  try  his  hand  on  other  kinds  of  vegetables,  and 
should  he  succeed  the  citizens  along  the  line  will  have 
an  opportunity  to  get  as  early  vegetables  as  those  who 
live  in  the  sunny  South. 

The  cabbages  were  a  dream  which  seems  never 
to  have  materialized  even  to  the  point  of  being  a 
source  of  expense,  and  history  speaks  no  more  of  it. 

The  boys  at  the  Chimney  Butte,  meanwhile, 
were  hibernating,  hunting  as  the  spirit  moved 
them  and  keeping  a  general  eye  on  the  stock.  Of 
Roosevelt's  three  friends,  Joe  was  the  only  one 
who  was  really  busy.  Joe,  it  happened,  was  no 
longer  working  for  Frank  Vine.  He  was  now  a 
storekeeper.  It  was  all  due  to  the  fateful  hundred 
dollars  which  he  had  loaned  the  unstable  Johnny 
Nelson. 

For  Johnny  Nelson,  so  far  as  Little  Missouri  was 
concerned,  was  no  more.  He  had  bought  all  his 
goods  on  credit  from  some  commission  house  in  St. 
Paul;  but  his  payments,  due  mainly  to  the  fact 
that  his  receipts  all  drifted  sooner  or  later  into  the 
guileful  hands  of  Jess  Hogue,  were  infrequent  and 
finally  stopped  altogether.  Johnny  received  word 
that  his  creditor  in  St.  Paul  was  coming  to  investi- 
gate  him.    He   became   frantic   and    confided    the 


JOE  FERRIS  ACQUIRES  A  STORE         8i 

awful  news  to  every  one  he  met.  Hogue,  Bill 
Williams,  Jake  Maunders,  and  a  group  of  their  sat- 
ellites, hearing  the  doleful  recital  in  Bill  Williams's 
saloon,  told  Johnny  that  the  sheriff  would  unques- 
tionably close  up  his  store  and  take  everything 
away  from  him. 

"  You  give  me  the  keys,"  said  Jake  Maunders, 
"  and  I'll  see  that  the  sheriff  don't  get  your  stuff." 

Johnny  in  his  innocence  gave  up  the  keys.  That 
night  Jake  Maunders  and  his  "  gang  "  entered  the 
store  and  completely  cleaned  it  out.  They  did  not 
leave  a  button  or  a  shoestring.  It  was  said  after- 
wards that  Jake  Maunders  did  not  have  to  buy  a 
new  suit  of  clothes  for  seven  years,  and  even 
Williams's  two  tame  bears  wore  ready-made  coats 
from  St.  Paul. 

Johnny  Nelson  went  wailing  to  Katie,  his  be- 
trothed. 

"  I've  lost  everything!"  he  cried.  "  I've  lost  all 
my  goods  and  I  can't  get  more.  I've  lost  my  reputa- 
tion.   I  can't  marry  you.    I've  lost  my  reputation." 

Katie  was  philosophic  about  it.  "  That's  all 
right,  Johnny,"  she  said  comfortingly,  "  I  lost  mine 
long  ago." 

At  that,  Johnny  ''skipped  the  country."  And  so 
it  was  that  Joe  Ferris,  to  save  his  hundred  dollars 
attached  Johnny's  building  and  became  storekeeper. 

For  Roosevelt,  two  thousand  miles  to  the  east, 
the  winter  was  proving  exciting.  He  had  won  his 
reelection  to  the  Assembly  with  ease  and  had 
plunged  into  his  work  with  a  new  vigor  and  a  more 


82         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

solid  self-reliance.  He  became  the  acknowledged 
leader  of  the  progressive  elements  in  the  Legislature, 
the  "  cyclone  member  "  at  whom  the  reactionaries 
who  were  known  as  the  "  Black  Horse  Cavalry" 
sneered,  but  of  whom,  nevertheless,  they  were 
heartily  afraid. 

He  "  figured  in  the  news,"  day  in,  day  out,  for 
the  public,  it  seemed,  was  interested  in  this  vigorous 
and  emphatic  young  man  from  the  "  Silkstocking 
District  "  of  New  York.  Roosevelt  took  his  public- 
ity with  zest,  for  he  was  human  and  enjoyed  the 
sensation  of  being  counted  with  those  who  made 
the  wheels  go  around.  Meanwhile  he  worked  all 
day  and  conversed  half  the  night  on  a  thousand 
topics  which  his  ardor  made  thrilling.  In  society 
he  was  already  somewhat  of  a  lion;  and  he  was 
only  twenty-five  years  old. 

Life  was  running,  on  the  whole,  very  smoothly 
for  Theodore  Roosevelt  when  in  January,  1884,  he 
entered  upon  his  third  term  in  the  Legislature.  He 
was  happily  married,  he  had  wealth,  he  had  a 
notable  book  on  the  War  of  181 2  to  his  credit;  he 
had,  it  seemed,  a  smooth  course  ahead  of  him,  down 
pleasant  roads  to  fame. 

On  February  12th,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
his  wife  gave  birth  to  a  daughter.  At  five  o'clock 
the  following  morning  his  mother  died.  Six  hours 
later  his  wife  died. 

He  was  stunned  and  dazed,  but  within  a  week 
after  the  infinitely  pathetic  double  funeral  he  was 
back  at  his  desk  in  the  Assembly,  ready  to  fling 


ROOSEVELT  MEETS  DISASTER  83 

himself  with  every  fiber  of  energy  at  his  command 
into  the  fight  for  clean  government.  He  supported 
civil  service  reform;  he  was  chairman  of  a  com- 
mittee which  investigated  certain  phases  of  New 
York  City  official  life,  and  carried  through  the 
Legislature  a  bill  taking  from  the  Board  of  Aldermen 
the  power  to  reject  the  Mayor's  appointments. 
He  was  chairman  and  practically  the  only  active 
member  of  another  committee  to  investigate  living 
conditions  in  the  tenements  of  New  York,  and  as 
spokesman  of  the  worn  and  sad-looking  foreigners 
who  constituted  the  Cigar-Makers'  Union,  argued 
before  Governor  Cleveland  for  the  passage  of  a 
bill  to  prohibit  the  manufacture  of  cigars  in  tene- 
ment-houses. His  energy  was  boundless,  it  seemed, 
but  the  heart  had  gone  out  of  him.  He  was  restless, 
and  thought  longingly  of  the  valley  of  the  Little 
Missouri. 

The  news  that  came  from  the  boys  at  Chimney 
Butte  was  favorable.  The  three  hundred  head  of 
young  cattle  which  Sylvane  and  Merrifield  had 
bought  in  Iowa,  were  doing  well  in  spite  of  a  hard 
winter.  Roosevelt,  struck  by  Sylvane's  enthusiastic 
report,  backed  by  a  painstaking  account-sheet,  wrote 
Sylvane  telling  him  to  buy  a  thousand  or  twelve 
hundred  head  more. 

Sylvane's  reply  was  characteristic  and  would 
have  gratified  Uncle  James.  "  Don't  put  in  any 
more  money  until  you're  sure  we've  scattered  the 
other  dollars  right,"  he  said  in  effect.  "  Better 
come  out  first  and  look  around." 


84         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

That  struck  Roosevelt  as  good  advice,  and  he 
accepted  it. 

While  Roosevelt  was  winning  clear,  meanwhile, 
of  the  tangles  and  snares  in  Albany,  he  was  un- 
consciously being  enmeshed  in  the  web  that  v/as 
spinning  at  Medora. 

It  came  about  this  way.  The  Marquis,  who  had 
many  likable  qualities,  did  not  possess  among  them 
any  strict  regard  for  the  rights  of  others.  He  had  a 
curious  obsession,  in  fact,  that  in  the  Bad  Lands 
there  were  no  rights  but  his;  and  with  that  point 
of  view  had  directed  his  superintendent,  a  man 
named  Matthews,  to  drive  fifteen  hundred  head 
of  cattle  over  on  an  unusually  fine  piece  of  bottom- 
land northwestward  across  the  river  from  the 
Maltese  Cross,  which,  by  all  the  laws  of  the  range, 
belonged  to  the  "  Roosevelt  outfit."  Matthews 
declared  that  the  Marquis  intended  to  hold  the 
bottom  permanently  for  fattening  beef-cattle,  and 
to  build  a  cabin  there. 

"  You'll  have  to  move  those  cattle  by  daylight," 
said  Merrifield,  "or  we'll  move  them  for  you.  You 
can  take  your  choice." 

"  I've  got  my  orders  from  the  Marquis  to  keep 
the  cattle  here,"  answered  Matthews.  "  That's  all 
there  is  to  it.   They'll  stay  here." 

It  was  late  at  night,  but  Sylvane  and  Merrifield 
rode  to  Medora  taking  a  neighboring  cowboy  named 
Pete  Marlow  along  as  witness,  "  for  the  Marquis 
is  a  hard  man  to  deal  with,"  remarked  Merrifield. 
To  Pete  it  was  all  the  gayest  sort  of  adventure. 


INVASION  85 

He  confided  the  object  of  the  nocturnal  expedition 
to  the  first  man  he  came  upon. 

The  Marquis  was  not  at  his  home.  The  boys 
were  told  that  he  might  still  be  at  his  office,  though 
the  time  was  nearing  midnight. 

Meanwhile  Pete's  news  had  spread.  From  the 
base  of  Graveyard  Butte,  Jake  Hainsley,  the 
superintendent  of  the  coal  mine,  who  dearly  loved 
a  fight,  came  running  with  a  rifle  in  his  hand. 
"  I've  got  forty  men  myself,"  he  cried,  "  and  I've 
Winchesters  for  every  mother's  son  of  'em,  and  if 
you  need  help  you  just  let  me  know  and  we'll  back 
you  all  right,  we  will." 

The  Marquis  was  in  his  office  in  Medora  next  to 
the  new  Company  store,  working  with  Van  Driesche, 
his  valet  and  secretary.  He  asked  what  the  three 
men  wanted  of  him  at  that  hour  in  the  night. 
Merrifield  explained  the  situation. 

They  told  him:  "  We  want  you  to  write  an  order 
to  move  those  cattle  at  daylight." 

"  If  I  refuse?  " 

Sylvane  and  Merrifield  had  thoroughly  discussed 
the  question  what  they  would  do  in  case  the  Marquis 
refused.  They  would  take  tin  pans  and  stampede 
the  herd.  They  were  under  no  illusions  concerning 
the  probabilities  in  case  they  took  that  means  of 
ridding  themselves  of  the  unwelcome  herd.  There 
would  be  shooting,  of  course. 

"  Why,  Marquis,"  said  Merrifield,  "  if  Matthews 
don't  move  those  cattle,  I  guess  there's  nothing  to 
it  but  what  we'll  have  to  move  them  ourselves." 


86         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

The  Marquis  had  not  Hved  a  year  in  the  Bad 
Lands  without  learning  something.  In  a  more  con- 
ciliatory mood  he  endeavored  to  find  ground  for 
a  compromise.  But  "  the  boys  "  were  not  inclined 
to  compromise  with  a  man  who  was  patently  in  the 
wrong.  Finally,  the  Marquis  offered  them  fifteen  hun- 
dred dollars  on  the  condition  that  they  would  allow 
him  to  use  the  piece  of  bottom-land  for  three  weeks. 

It  was  on  its  face  a  munificent  offer;  but  Merri- 
field  and  Sylvane  knew  that  the  Marquis's  "  three 
weeks "  might  not  terminate  after  twenty-one 
days.  They  knew  something  else.  "  After  we  had 
made  our  statement,"  Merrifield  explained  later, 
"  no  matter  how  much  he  had  offered  us  we  would 
not  have  accepted  it.  We  knew  there'd  be  no  living 
with  a  man  like  the  Marquis  if  you  made  statements 
and  then  backed  down  for  any  price." 

Never  draw  your  gun,  ran  a  saying  of  the  frontier, 
unless  you  mean  to  shoot. 

"  Marquis,"  said  Merrifield,  "  we've  made  our 
statement  once  for  all.  If  you  don't  see  fit  to  write 
that  order  there  won't  be  any  more  talk.  We  will 
move  the  cattle  ourselves." 

The  Marquis  was  courteous  and  even  friendly. 
"  I  am  sorry  you  cannot  do  this  for  me."  he  said; 
but  he  issued  the  order.  Merrifield  and  Sylvane 
themselves  carried  it  to  the  offending  superin- 
tendent. Matthews  was  furious;  but  he  moved  the 
cattle  at  dawn.  The  whole  affair  did  not  serve  to 
improve  the  relations  between  the  groups  which  the 
killing  of  Riley  Luffsey  had  originally  crystallized, 


ROOSEVELT^TURNS  WEST  87 

Roosevelt  probably  remained  unaware  of  the 
interesting  complications  that  were  being  woven 
for  him  in  the  hot-hearted  frontier  community  of 
which  he  was  now  a  part;  for  Merrifield  and 
Sylvane,  as  correspondents,  were  laconic,  not  being 
given  to  spreading  themselves  out  on  paper.  His 
work  in  the  Assembly  and  the  pre-convention 
campaign  for  presidential  candidates  completely 
absorbed  his  energies.  He  was  eager  that  a  reform 
candidate  should  be  named  by  the  Republicans, 
vigorously  opposing  both  Blaine  and  Arthur,  him- 
self preferring  Senator  Edmunds  of  Vermont.  He 
fought  hard  and  up  to  a  certain  point  successfully, 
for  at  the  State  Republican  Convention  held  in 
Utica  in  April  he  thoroughly  trounced  the  Old 
Guard,  who  were  seeking  to  send  a  delegation  to 
Chicago  favorable  to  Arthur,  and  was  himself 
elected  head  of  the  delegates  at  large,  popularly 
known  as  the  "  Big  Four." 

He  had,  meanwhile,  made  up  his  mind  that,  ^ 
however  the  dice  might  fall  at  the  convention,  he 
would  henceforth  make  his  home,  for  a  part  of  the 
year  at  least,  in  the  Bad  Lands.  He  had  two  friends 
in  Maine,  backwoodsmen  mighty  with  the  axe,  and 
born  to  the  privations  of  the  frontier,  whom  he 
decided  to  take  with  him  if  he  could.  One  was 
"  Bill  "  Sewall,  a  stalwart  viking  at  the  end  of 
his  thirties,  who  had  been  his  guide  on  frequent 
occasions  when  as  a  boy  in  college  he  had  sought 
health  and  good  hunting  on  the  waters  of  Lake 
Mattawamkeag;    the  other  was  Sewall's  nephew, 


88         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Wilmot  Dow.  He  flung  out  the  suggestion  to  them, 
and  they  rose  to  it  Hke  hungry  trout;  for  they  had 
adventurous  spirits. 

The  RepubHcan  National  Convention  met  in 
Chicago  in  the  first  days  of  June.  Roosevelt, 
supported  by  his  friend  Henry  Cabot  Lodge  and  a 
group  of  civil  service  reformers  that  included  George 
William  Curtis  and  Carl  Schurz,  led  the  fight  for 
Edmunds.  But  the  convention  wanted  Blaine,  the 
"  Plumed  Knight  ";  and  the  convention  got  Blaine. 

Roosevelt  raged,  but  refused  to  follow  Curtis  and 
Schurz,  who  hinted  darkly  at  "  bolting  the  ticket." 
He  took  the  first  train  to  Dakota,  sick  at  heart,  to 
think  things  over. 


V 

He  wears  a  l)ij;  liat  and  hij;  spurs  and  all  that, 

And  leggins  of  fancy  frinj^cd  leather; 
He  takes  pride  in  his  boots  and  the  pistol  he  shoots 

And  he's  happy  in  all  kinds  of  weather; 
He's  fond  of  his  horse,  it's  a  broncho,  of  course, 

For  oh,  he  can  ride  like  the  devil; 
He  is  old  for  his  years  and  he  always  appears 

Like  a  fellow  who's  lived  on  the  level; 
He  can  sing,  he  can  cook,  yet  his  eyes  have  the  look 

Of  a  man  that  to  fear  is  a  stranger; 
Yes,  his  cool,  quiet  nerve  will  always  subserve 

For  his  wild  life  of  duty  and  danger. 
He  gets  little  to  eat,  and  he  guys  tenderfeet, 

And  for  fashion,  oh  well!   he's  not  in  it; 
But  he'll  rope  a  gay  steer  when  he  gets  on  its  ear 

At  the  rate  of  two-forty  a  minute. 

Cowboy  song 

Blaine  was  nominated  on  June  7th.  On  the  8th 
Roosevelt  was  already  in  St.  Paul,  on  his  way  to 
the  Bad  Lands.  A  reporter  of  the  Pioneer  Press 
interviewed  him  and  has  left  this  description  of  him 
as  he  appeared  fresh  from  the  battle  at  Chicago: 

He  is  short  and  slight  and  with  rather  an  ordinary 
appearance,  although  his  frame  is  wiry  and  his  flashing 
eyes  and  rapid,  nervous  gestures  betoken  a  hidden 
strength.  He  is  not  at  all  an  ideal  Harvard  alumnus, 
for  he  lacks  that  ingrained  conceit  and  grace  of  manner 
that  a  residence  at  Cambridge  insures.  Although  of 
the  old  Knickerbocker  stock,  his  manner  and  carriage 
is  awkward  and  not  at  all  impressive. 

He  arrived  in  Medora  on  the  evening  of  the  9th. 
The  Ferrises  and  Merrifield  were  at  the  "  depot  " 
to   meet    him.   They   all   adjourned    to   Packard's 


90         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

printing-office,  since  that  was  the  only  place  in 
town  of  a  semi-public  character  which  was  not  at 
that  hour  in  possession  of  a  noisy  aggregation  of 
Medora's  thirstiest  citizens. 

The  office  of  the  Bad  Lands  Cowboy,  which  stood 
under  a  gnarled  cottonwood-tree  north  of  the 
Marquis's  store,  was  a  one-room  frame  building 
which  served  as  the  editor's  parlor,  bedroom,  and 
bath,  as  well  as  his  printing-office  and  his  editorial 
sanctum.  It  was  built  of  perpendicular  boards  which 
let  in  the  wintry  blasts  in  spite  of  the  two-inch 
strips  which  covered  the  joints  on  the  outside.  It 
had,  in  fact,  originally  served  as  the  Marquis's 
blacksmith  shop,  and  the  addition  of  a  wooden 
floor  had  not  altogether  converted  it  into  a  habitable 
dwelling,  proof  against  Dakota  weather.  On  this 
particular  June  night  the  thermometer  was  in  the 
thirties  and  a  cannon  stove  glpwed  red  from  a 
steady  application  of  lignite. 

A  half-dozen  voices  greeted  Roosevelt  with  pleas 
for  the  latest  news  of  the  "  great  Republican 
round-up."  Roosevelt  was  not  loath  to  unburden 
his  soul.  For  an  hour  he  told  of  the  battles  and  the 
manipulations  of  the  convention,  of  the  stubborn 
fight  against  an  impending  nomination  which  he 
had  known  would  be  a  fatal  mistake,  but  which  the 
majority  seemed  to  be  bound  to  make. 

Packard  told  about  it  years  afterward.  "He 
gave  us  such  a  swinging  description  of  the  stirring 
scenes  of  the  convention  that  the  eyes  of  the  boys 
were  fairly  popping  out  of  their  heads.   But  it  was 


I  WILL  NOT  BE  DICTATED  TO!  91 

when  he  told  how  Roscoe  Conkling  attempted  to 
dominate  the  situation  and  override  the  wishes  of 
a  large  portion  of  the  New  York  delegation  that 
the  fire  really  began  to  flash  in  his  eyes.  I  can  see 
him  now  as  plainly  as  I  did  then,  as  he  straightened 
up,  his  doubled  fist  in  the  air,  his  teeth  glittering, 
and  his  eyes  squinting  in  something  that  was  far 
from  a  smile  as  he  jerked  out  the  words,  'By 
Godfrey!   I  will  not  be  dictated  to! '  " 

Roosevelt  rode  to  the  Maltese  Cross  next  morn- 
ing. The  old  stockade  shack,  with  the  dirt  floor 
and  dirt  roof,  had,  as  he  had  suggested,  been  con- 
verted into  a  stable,  and  a  simple  but  substantial 
one-and-a-half  story  log  cabin  had  been  built  with 
a  shingle  roof  and  a  cellar,  both  luxuries  in  the 
Bad  Lands.  An  alcove  off  the  one  large  room  on 
the  main  floor  was  set  aside  for  Roosevelt's  use  as 
combined  bedroom  and  study;  the  other  men  were 
quartered  in  the  loft  above.  East  of  the  ranch- 
house  beside  a  patch  of  kitchen-garden,  stood  the 
strongly  made  circular  horse-corral,  with  a  snubbing- 
post  in  the  middle,  and  at  some  distance  from  it 
the  larger  cow-corral  for  the  branding  of  the  cattle. 
Between  them  stood  the  cowsheds  and  the  hayricks. 

The  ranch-buildings  belonged  to  Sylvane  Ferris 
and  Merrifield.  In  buying  out  the  Maltese  Cross, 
Roosevelt  had  bought  only  cattle  and  horses;  not 
buildings  or  land.  The  ranges  on  which  his  cattle 
grazed  were  owned  by  the  Northern  Pacific  Rail- 
road, and  by  the  Government.  It  was  the  custom 
for  ranchmen  to  claim  for  grazing  purposes  a  certain 


92         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

stretch  of  land  north,  east,  south,  and  west  of  the 
bottom  on  which  the  home  ranch  stood. 

"  You  claim  so  much  land  each  way,"  Sylvane 
explained  to  a  tenderfoot  a  long  time  after,  "  accord- 
ing to  how  many  cattle  you  have.  For  instance, 
if  you  have  one  hundred  head  of  cattle,  you  don't 
require  very  much  range;  if  you  have  a  thousand 
head,  you  need  so  much  more.  There  wouldn't  be 
any  sense  of  one  man  trying  to  crowd  his  cattle  onto 
your  range  and  starve  out  both  outfits.  So  each 
man  claims  as  much  land  as  he  needs.  Of  course, 
that  doesn't  mean  that  the  other  fellow  doesn't  get 
over  on  your  range  —  that's  the  reason  we  brand 
our  cattle;  it  simply  means  that  a  certain  given 
number  of  cattle  will  have  a  certain  given  amount 
of  grazing  land.  Our  cattle  may  be  on  the  other 
fellow's  range  and  some  of  his  may  be  on  our  range, 
but  he'll  claim  so  much  land  each  way  and  we'll 
claim  so  much  land  each  way,  and  then  it  doesn't 
make  any  difference  if  they  do  get  on  each  other's 
territory,  so  long  as  there  is  enough  grazing  for 
the  two  outfits." 

The  range  claimed  by  the  "  Maltese  Cross  outfit  " 
extended  northward  to  the  river-crossing  above 
Eaton's  "  Custer  Trail  Ranch,"  and  southward  to 
the  crossing  just  below  what  was  known  as  "  Sloping 
Bottom,"  covering  a  territory  that  had  a  frontage 
of  four  miles  on  both  sides  of  the  river  and  extended 
back  on  each  side  for  thirty  miles  to  the  heads  of 
the  creeks  which  emptied  into  the  Little  Missouri. 

The  cattle,  Roosevelt  found,  were  looking  sleek 


MERRIFIELD 


SYLVANE  FERRIS 


THE    MALTESE    CROSS    RANCH-HOUSE   AS    IT   WAS   WHEN    ROOSEVELT 

LIVED  IN  IT 


GEORGE  MYERS  93 

and  well-fed.  He  had  lost  about  twenty-five  head 
during  the  winter,  partly  from  the  cold,  partly  from 
the  attacks  of  wolves.  There  were,  he  discovered, 
a  hundred  and  fifty  fine  calves. 

A  new  cowpuncher  had  been  added  to  the  Maltese 
Cross  outfit,  he  found,  since  the  preceding  autumn. 
It  was  George  Myers,  whom  he  had  met  on  the  ride 
down  the  river  from  Lang's.  Roosevelt  had  pur- 
chased five  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  barbed  wire 
and  George  was  digging  post-holes.  He  was  a 
boyish  and  attractive  individual  whom  the  wander- 
lust had  driven  westward  from  his  home  in  Wis- 
consin. His  honesty  fairly  leaped  at  you  out  of 
his  direct,  clear  eyes. 

Roosevelt  spent  two  days  contemplating  his  new 
possessions.  At  the  end  of  the  second  he  had  reached 
a  decision,  and  he  announced  it  promptly.  He  told 
Sylvane  and  Merrifield  to  get  ready  to  ride  to  Lang's 
with  him  the  next  day  for  the  purpose  of  drawing 
up  a  new  contract.  He  had  determined  to  make 
cattle- raising  his  "  regular  business  "  and  intended, 
at  once  (in  riotous  defiance  of  Uncle  James!),  to 
put  a  thousand  head  more  on  the  range. 

The  Langs  were  situated  seven  miles  nearer 
civilization  than  they  had  been  on  Roosevelt's 
previous  visit,  and  were  living  in  a  dugout  built 
against  a  square  elevation  that  looked  like  a  low 
fortress  or  the  "  barrow "  of  some  dead  Viking 
chief.  They  were  building  a  ranch-house  in  antici- 
pation of  the  coming  of  Mrs.  Lang  and  two  children, 
a  girl  of  eighteen  or  nineteen  and  a  son  a  half-dozen 


94         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

years  younger  than  Lincoln.  The  dugout  was 
already  overcrowded  with  three  or  four  carpenters 
who  were  at  work  on  the  house,  and  Gregor  Lang 
suggested  that  they  ride  five  miles  up  the  river  to  a 
cabin  of  his  on  what  was  known  as  "  Sagebrush 
Bottom,"  where  he  and  Lincoln  had  spent  the 
winter.  They  had  moved  out  of  the  shack  on  the 
Little  Cannonball  for  two  reasons.  One  was  that 
a  large  cattle  outfit  from  New  Mexico,  named  the 
Berry-Boyce  Cattle  Company,  had  started  a  ranch, 
known  as  the  "  Three  Seven,"  not  half  a  mile  down 
the  river;  the  other  was  that  Gregor  Lang  was  by 
disposition  not  one  who  was  able  to  learn  from  the 
experience  of  others.  For  it  happened  that,  a  few 
weeks  after  Roosevelt's  departure  in  September,  a 
skunk  had  invaded  the  cabin  and  made  itself  com- 
fortable under  one  of  the  bunks.  Lincoln  and  the 
Highlander  were  in  favor  of  diplomacy  in  dealing 
with  the  invader.  But  Gregor  Lang  reached  for  a 
pitchfork.  They  pleaded  with  him,  without  effect. 
The  skunk  retaliated  in  his  own  fashion;  and 
shortly  after,  they  moved  forever  out  of  the  cabin 
on  the  Little  Cannonball. 

Roosevelt,  who  recognized  Gregor  Lang's  limita- 
tions, recognized  also  that  the  Scotchman  was  a 
good  business  man.  He  set  him  to  work  next  morn- 
ing drawing  up  a  new  contract.  It  called  for 
further  investment  on  his  part  of  twenty-six  thou- 
sand dollars  to  cover  the  purchase  of  a  thousand 
head  or  more  of  cattle.  Merrifield  and  Sylvane  signed 
it  and  returned  promptly  to  the  Maltese  Cross.  - 


MRS.  MADDOX  95 

Roosevelt  remained  behind.  "  Lincoln,"  he  said, 
"  there  are  two  things  I  want  to  do.  I  want  to 
get  an  antelope,  and  I  want  to  get  a  buckskin 
suit. 

Lincoln  thought  that  he  could  help  him  to  both. 
Some  twenty  miles  to  the  east  lived  a  woman 
named  Mrs.  Maddox  who  had  acquired  some  fame 
in  the  region  by  the  vigorous  way  m  which  she 
had  handled  the  old  reprobate  who  was  her  husband ; 
and  by  her  skill  in  making  buckskin  shirts.  She 
was  a  dead  shot,  and  it  was  said  of  her  that  even 
"Calamity  Jane,"  Deadwood's  "first  lady,"  was 
forced  "  to  yield  the  palm  to  Mrs.  Maddox  when 
it  came  to  the  use  of  a  vocabulary  which  adequately 
searched  every  nook  and  cranny  of  a  man's  life 
from  birth  to  ultimate  damnation." 

They  found  her  in  her  desolate,  little  mud-roofed 
hut  on  Sand  Creek,  a  mile  south  of  the  old  Keogh 
trail.  She  was  living  alone,  having  recently  dis- 
missed her  husband  in  summary  fashion.  It  seems 
that  he  was  a  worthless  devil,  who,  under  the 
stimulus  of  some  whiskey  he  had  obtained  from 
an  outfit  of  Missouri  "bull-whackers"  who  were 
driving  freight  to  Deadwood,  had  picked  a  quarrel 
with  his  wife  and  attempted  to  beat  her.  She 
knocked  him  down  with  a  stove-lid  lifter  and  the 
"  bull-whackers  "  bore  him  off,  leaving  the  lady  in 
full  possession  of  the  ranch.  She  now  had  a  man 
named  Crow  Joe  working  for  her,  a  slab-sided, 
shifty-eyed  ne'er-do-well,  who  was  suspected  of 
stealing  horses  on  occasion, 


96         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

She  measured  Roosevelt  for  his  suit^  and  gave 
him  and  Lincoln  a  dinner  that  they  remembered.  A 
vigorous  personality  spoke  out  of  her  every  action. 
Roosevelt  regarded  her  with  mingled  amusement 
and  awe. 

They  found  their  antelope  on  the  way  home. 
They  found  two  antelopes,  in  fact,  but  Roosevelt, 
who  had  been  as  cool  as  an  Indian  an  instant  before, 
was  so  elated  when  he  saw  the  first  drop  to  his 
rifle  that  he  was  totally  incapacitated  from  aiming 
at  the  second  when  that  animal,  evidently  be- 
wildered, began  to  run  in  circles  scarcely  twenty- 
five  yards  away.  He  had  dropped  his  gun  with  a 
whoop,  waving  his  arms  over  his  head  and  crying, 
"  I  got  him!    I  got  him!  " 

"  Shoot  the  other  one!  "  Lincoln  called. 

Roosevelt  burst  into  a  laugh.  "  I  can't/'  he 
called  back.    "  Not  to  save  my  life." 

They  met  at  the  side  of  the  antelope.  "  This 
would  not  have  seemed  nearly  so  good  if  somebody 
had  not  been  here  to  see  it,"  Roosevelt  exclaimed. 
"  Do  you  know  what  I  am  going  to  do?  I  am  going 
to  make  you  a  present  of  my  shot-gun." 

Lincoln,  being  only  sixteen,  did  not  know  exactly 
what  to  make  of  the  generosity  of  this  jubilant 
young  man.  It  struck  him  that  Roosevelt,  in  the 
excitement  of  the  moment,  was  giving  away  a 
thing  of  great  value  and  might  regret  it  on  sober 

^  The  buckskin  suit  which  was  still  doing  service  thirty  years 
later,  was  made  under  the  supervision  of  Mrs.  Maddox  by  her  niece, 
now  Mrs.  Olmstead,  of  Medora. 


THE  MALTESE  CROSS  97 

second  thought.  Lincoln  repHed  that  he  could  not 
accept  the  gift.  It  struck  him  that  Roosevelt  looked 
hurt  for  an  instant. 

They  dressed  the  antelope  together,  Roosevelt 
taking  the  position  of  humble  pupil.  The  next 
day  he  returned  alone  to  the  Maltese  Cross. 

He  now  entered  with  vigor  into  the  life  of  a 
Dakota  ranchman.  The  country  was  at  its  best  in 
the  clear  June  weather.  The  landscape  in  which 
the  ranch-house  was  set  had  none  of  the  forbidding 
desolateness  of  sharp  bluff  and  scarred  ravine  that 
characterized  the  region  surrounding  Little  Mis- 
souri. The  door  of  the  cabin  looked  out  on  a  wide, 
semi-circular  clearing  covered  with  sagebrush,  bor- 
dered on  the  east  by  a  ring  of  buttes  and  grassy 
slopes,  restful  in  their  gray  and  green  for  eyes  to 
gaze  upon.  Westward,  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  the  house,  behind  a  hedge  of  cottonwoods,  the 
river  swung  in  a  long  circle  at  the  foot  of  steep 
buttes  crested  with  scoria.  At  the  ends  of  the  valley 
were  glades  of  cottonwoods  with  grassy  floors 
where  deer  hid  a^mong  the  buckbrush  by  day,  or  at 
dusk  fed  silently  or,  at  the  sound  of  a  step,  bounded, 
erect  and  beautiful,  off  into  deeper  shelter.  In  an 
almost  impenetrable  tangle  of  bullberry  bushes, 
whose  hither  edge  was  barely  one  hundred  yards 
from  the  ranch-house,  two  fawns  spent  their  days. 
They  were  extraordinarily  tame,  and  in  the  evenings 
Roosevelt  could  frequently  see  them  from  the  door 
as  they  came  out  to  feed.  Walking  on  the  flat  after 
sunset,  or  riding  home  when  night  had  fallen,  he 


98         ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

would  run  across  them  when  it  was  too  dark  to 
make  out  anything  but  their  flaunting  white  tails 
as  they  cantered  out  of  the  way. 

Roosevelt,  who  never  did  things  by  halves,  took 
up  his  new  activities  as  though  they  constituted 
the  goal  of  a  lifetime  spent  in  a  search  for  the  ulti- 
mate good.  Ranch-life  was  altogether  novel  to 
him;  at  no  point  had  his  work  or  his  play  touched 
any  phase  of  it.  He  had  ridden  to  hounds  and  was 
a  fair  but  by  no  means  a  "  fancy "  rider.  His 
experience  in  the  Meadowbrook  Hunt,  however, 
had  scarcely  prepared  him  adequately  for  combat 
with  the  four-legged  children  of  Satan  that  "  mewed 
their  mighty  youth  "  on  the  wild  ranges  of  the 
Bad  Lands. 

"  I  have  a  perfect  dread  of  bucking,"  he  confided 
to  an  unseen  public  in  a  book  which  he  began  that 
summer,  "  and  if  I  can  help  it  I  never  get  on  a 
confirmed  bucker."  He  could  not  always  help  it. 
Sylvane,  who  could  ride  anything  in  the  Bad  Lands, 
was  wedded  to  the  idea  that  any  animal  which  by 
main  force  had  been  saddled  and  ridden  was  a 
"  broke  horse,"  and  when  Roosevelt  would  protest 
mildly  concerning  this  or  that  particularly  vicious 
animal,  Sylvane  would  look  at  him  in  a  grieved 
and  altogether  captivating  way,  saying,  "  Why,  I 
call  that  a  plumb  gentle  horse." 

"  When  Sylvane  says  that  a  horse  is  *  plumb 
gentle,'  "  remarked  Roosevelt,  on  one  occasion, 
"  then  you  want  to  look  out." 

Sylvane  and  Merrifield  were  to  start  for  the  East 


ON  THE  ROUND-UP  99 

to  purchase  the  additional  cattle  on  the  i8th  of 
June,  and  Roosevelt  had  determined  to  set  forth 
on  the  same  day  for  a  solitary  camping-trip  on 
the  prairie.  Into  the  three  or  four  intervening  days 
he  crowded  all  the  experiences  they  would  hold. 

He  managed  to  persuade  Sylvane,  somewhat 
against  that  individual's  personal  judgment  (for 
Sylvane  was  suspicious  of  "  dudes  "),  that  he  actu- 
ally intended  "  to  carry  his  own  pack."  Sylvane 
found,  to  his  surprise,  that  the  ''  dude "  learnt 
quickly.  He  showed  Roosevelt  once  how  to  saddle 
his  horse,  and  thereafter  Roosevelt  saddled  his 
horses  himself.  Sylvane  was  relieved  in  spirit,  and 
began  to  look  with  new  eyes  on  the  "  four-eyed 
tenderfoot  "  who  was  entrusting  a  fortune  to  his 
care. 

There  was  no  general  round-up  in  the  valley  of 
the  Little  Missouri  that  spring  of  1884,  for  the 
cattle  had  not  had  the  opportunity  to  wander  to 
any  great  distance,  having  been  on  the  range,  most 
of  them,  only  a  few  months.  The  different  "  out- 
fits," how^ever,  held  their  own  round-ups,  at  each 
of  which  a  few  hundred  cattle  might  be  gathered 
from  the  immediate  vicinity,  the  calves  "  cut  out  " 
and  roped  and  branded,  and  turned  loose  again  to 
wander  undisturbed  until  the  "  beef  round-up " 
in  the  fall. 

At  each  of  these  round-ups,  which  might  take 
place  on  any  of  a  dozen  bottoms  up  or  down  the 
river,  the  Maltese  Cross  "  outfit  "  had  to  be  repre- 
sented,   and   Sylvane   and    Merrifield   and   George 


100       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Myers  were  kept  busy  picking  up  their  "strays." 
Roosevelt  rode  with  them,  as  "  boss  "  and  at  the 
same  time  as  apprentice.  It  gave  him  an  opportun- 
ity to  get  acquainted  with  his  own  men  and  with 
the  cowpunchers  of  half  a  dozen  other  "  outfits." 
He  found  the  work  stirring  and  the  men  singularly 
human  and  attractive.  They  were  free  and  reckless 
spirits,  who  did  not  much  care,  it  seemed,  whether 
they  lived  or  died;  profane  youngsters,  who  treated 
him  with  respect  in  spite  of  his  appearance  because 
they  respected  the  men  with  whom  he  had  associ- 
ated himself.  They  came  from  all  parts  of  the  Union 
and  spoke  a  language  all  their  own. 

"  We'll  throw  over  an'  camp  to-night  at  the  mouth 
o'  Knutson  Creek,"  might  run  the  round-up  captain's 
orders.  "  Nighthawk'U  be  corralin'  the  cawy  in  the 
mornin'  'fore  the  white  crow  squeals,  so  we  kin  be 
cuttin'  the  day-herd  on  the  bed-groun'.  We'll  make 
a  side-cut  o'  the  mavericks  an'  auction  'em  off  pronto 
soon's  we  git  through." 

All  that  was  ordinary  conversation.  When  an 
occasion  arose  which  seemed  to  demand  a  special 
effort,  the  talk  around  the  "  chuck-wagon  "  was 
so  riddled  with  slang  from  all  corners  of  the  earth,  so 
full  of  startling  imagery,  that  a  stranger  might 
stare,  bewildered,  unable  to  extract  a  particle  of 
meaning.  And  through  it  blazed  such  a  continual 
shower  of  oaths,  that  were  themselves  sparks  of 
Satanic  poetry,  that,  in  the  phrase  of  one  contem- 
plative cowpuncher,  "  absodarnnlutely  had  to  be 
parted  in  the  middle  to  hold  an  extra  one." 


HASTEN  FORWARD  QUICKLY  THERE!     loi 

It  was  to  ears  attuned  to  this  rich  and  racy  music 
that  Roosevelt  came  with  the  soft  accents  of  his 
Harvard  English.  The  cowboys  bore  up,  showing 
the  tenderfoot  the  frigid  courtesy  they  kept  for 
"  dudes  "  who  happened  to  be  in  company,  which 
made  it  impolite  or  inexpedient  to  attempt  "  to 
make  the  sucker  dance." 

It  happened,  however,  that  Roosevelt  broke  the 
camel's  back.  Some  cows  which  had  been  rounded 
up  with  their  calves  made  a  sudden  bolt  out  of  the 
herd.  Roosevelt  attempted  to  head  them  back, 
but  the  wily  cattle  eluded  him. 

"Hasten  forw^ard  quickly  there!"  Roosevelt 
shouted  to  one  of  his  men. 

The  bounds  of  formal  courtesy  could  not  with- 
stand that.  There  was  a  roar  of  delight  from  the 
cowpunchers,  and,  instantly,  the  phrase  became  a 
part  of  the  vocabulary  of  the  Bad  Lands.  That 
day,  and  on  many  days  thereafter  when  "  Get  a 
git  on  yuh ! "  grew  stale  and  "  Head  off  them  cattle ! " 
seemed  done  to  death,  he  heard  a  cowpuncher 
shout,  in  a  piping  voice,  "  Hasten  forward  quickly 
there!" 

Roosevelt,  in  fact,  was  in  those  first  days  con- 
sidered somewhat  of  a  joke.  Beside  Gregor  Lang, 
forty  miles  to  the  south,  he  was  the  only  man  in  the 
Bad  Lands  who  wore  glasses.  Lang's  glasses,  more- 
over, were  small  and  oval;  Roosevelt's  were  large 
and  round,  making  him,  in  the  opinion  of  the  cow- 
punchers,  look  very  much  like  a  curiously  nervous 
and  emphatic  owl.   They  called  him  "  Four  Eyes," 


102       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

and  spoke  without  too  much  respect,  of  "  Roosen- 
f  elder." 

Merrifield  rode  to  town  with  him  one  day  and 
stopped  at  the  Marquis's  company  store  to  see  a 
man  named  Fisher,  who  had  succeeded  Edgar 
Haupt  as  local  superintendent  of  the  Northern 
Pacific  Refrigerator  Car  Company,  asking  Fisher 
as  he  was  departing  whether  he  did  not  want  to 
meet  Roosevelt.  Fisher  had  heard  of  the  "  four- 
eyed  dude  from  New  York  "  and  heard  something 
of  his  political  reforming.  He  went  outdoors  with 
Merrifield,  distinctly  curious. 

Roosevelt  was  on  horseback  chatting  with  a 
group  of  cowboys,  and  the  impression  he  made  on 
Fisher  was  not  such  as  to  remove  the  natural 
prejudice  of  youth  against  "  reformers "  of  any 
sort.  What  Fisher  saw  was  "  a  slim,  ansemic-look- 
ing  young  fellow  dressed  in  the  exaggerated  style 
which  new-comers  on  the  frontier  affected,  and 
which  was  considered  indisputable  evidence  of 
the  rank  tenderfoot."  If  any  further  proof  of 
Roosevelt's  status  was  needed,  the  great  round 
glasses  supplied  it.  Fisher  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  knew  all  he  needed  to  know  about  the  new 
owner  of  the  Maltese  Cross. 

No  doubt  he  expressed  his  opinions  to  Merrifield. 
The  taciturn  hunter  did  not  dispute  his  conclusions, 
but  a  day  or  two  after  he  dropped  in  on  Fisher  again 
and  said,  "  Get  your  horse  and  we'll  take  the  young 
fellow  over  the  old  Sully  Trail  and  try  out  his  nerve. 
We'll  let  on  that  we're  going  for  a  little  hunt." 


TRYING  OUT  THE  TENDERFOOT       103 

Fisher  agreed  with  glee  in  his  heart.  He  knew  the 
Sully  Trail.  It  ran  mainly  along  the  sides  of  precip- 
itous buttes,  southeast  of  Medora,  and,  being  old 
and  little  used,  had  almost  lost  the  little  semblance 
it  might  originally  have  had  of  a  path  where  four- 
footed  creatures  might  pick  their  way  with  reason- 
able security.  A  recent  rain  had  made  the  clay  as 
slippery  as  asphalt  in  a  drizzle. 

It  occurred  to  Fisher  that  it  was  as  truly  wicked 
a  trail  as  he  had  ever  seen.  Merrifield  led  the  way; 
Fisher  maneuvered  for  last  place  and  secured  it. 
In  the  most  perilous  places  there  was  always  some- 
thing about  his  saddle  which  needed  adjustment, 
and  he  took  care  not  to  remount  until  the  danger 
was  behind  them.  Roosevelt  did  not  dismount  for 
any  reason.  He  followed  where  Merrifield  led, 
without  comment. 

They  came  at  last  to  a  grassy  slope  that  dipped 
at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees  to  a  dry  creek-bed. 
"  There  goes  a  deer!  "  shouted  Merrifield  suddenly 
and  started  down  the  slope  as  fast  as  his  horse 
could  go.  Roosevelt  followed  at  the  same  speed. 
He  and  Merrifield  arrived  at  the  bottom  at  the 
identical  moment ;  but  with  a  difference.  Roosevelt 
was  still  on  his  horse,  but  Merrifield  and  his  pony 
had  parted  company  about  a  hundred  yards  above 
the  creek-bed  and  rolled  the  rest  of  the  way.  Fisher, 
who  was  conservative  by  nature,  arrived  in  due 
course. 

Roosevelt  pretended  to  be  greatly  annoyed. 
"  Now    see    what    you've    done,    Merrifield,"    he 


104       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

exclaimed  as  that  individual,  none  the  worse  for  his 
tumble,  drew  himself  to  his  feet.  "  That  deer  is  in 
Montana  by  this  time."  Then  he  burst  into 
laughter. 

A  suspicion  took  root  in  Fisher's  mind  that 
Merrifield  had  intended  the  hazardous  performance 
as  much  for  Fisher's  education  as  for  Roosevelt's. 
He  was  quite  ready  to  admit  that  his  first  impres- 
sion had  been  imperfect.  Meanwhile,  he  wondered 
whether  the  joke  was  on  himself  or  on  Merrifield. 
Certainly  it  was  not  on  the  tenderfoot. 

Roosevelt  enjoyed  it  all  with  the  relish  of  a 
gourmand  at  a  feast  cooked  by  the  gods. 

Theodore  Roosevelt,  the  young  New  York  reformer 
[remarked  the  Bad  Lands  Cowboy],  made  us  a  very 
pleasant  call  Monday  in  full  cowboy  regalia.  New 
York  will  certainly  lose  him  for  a  time  at  least,  as  he  is 
perfectly  charmed  with  our  free  Western  life  and  is 
now  figuring  on  a  trip  into  the  Big  Horn  country. 

In  a  letter  to  his  sister  Anna,  written  from  Medora, 
the  middle  of  June,  we  have  Roosevelt's  own  record 
of  his  reactions  to  his  first  experiences  as  an  actual 
ranchman.  "  Bamie  "  or  "  Bye, "  as  he  affectionately 
called  her,  was  living  in  New  York.  She  had  taken 
his  motherless  little  Alice  under  her  protecting  wing, 
and,  since  the  disasters  of  February,  had  been  half 
a  mother  to  him  also. 

Well,  I  have  been  having  a  glorious  time  here  [he 
writes],  and  am  well  hardened  now  (I  have  just  come  in 
from  spending  thirteen  hours  in  the  saddle).  For  every 
day  I  have  been  here  I  have  had  my  hands  full.   First 


A  LETTER  TO  BAMIE  105 

and  foremost,  the  cattle  have  done  well,  and  I  regard 
the  outlook  for  making  the  business  a  success  as  being 
very  hopeful.  I  shall  buy  a  thousand  more  cattle  and 
shall  make  it  my  regular  business.  In  the  autumn  I  shall 
bring  out  Sewall  and  Dow  and  put  them  on  a  ranch  with 
very  few  cattle  to  start  with,  and  in  the  course  of  a 
couple  of  years  give  them  quite  a  little  herd  also. 

I  have  never  been  in  better  health  than  on  this  trip. 
I  am  in  the  saddle  all  day  long  either  taking  part  in 
the  round-up  of  the  cattle,  or  else  hunting  antelope 
(I  got  one  the  other  day;  another  good  head  for  our 
famous  hall).  I  am  really  attached  to  my  two  "  factors," 
Ferris  and  Merrifield,  they  are  very  fine  men. 

The  country  is  growing  on  me,  more  and  more;  it 
has  a  curious,  fantastic  beauty  of  its  own ;  and  as  I  own 
six  or  eight  horses  I  have  a  fresh  one  every  day  and  ride 
on  a  lope  all  day  long.  How  sound  I  do  sleep  at  night 
now!  There  is  not  much  game,  however;  the  cattle-men 
have  crowded  it  out  and  only  a  few  antelope  and  deer 
remain.  I  have  shot  a  few  jackrabbits  and  curlews, 
with  the  rifle ;  and  I  also  killed  eight  rattlesnakes. 

To-morrow  my  two  men  go  East  for  the  cattle;  and 
I  will  start  out  alone  to  try  my  hand  at  finding  my  way 
over  the  prairie  by  myself.  I  intend  to  take  a  two 
months'  trip  in  the  fall,  for  hunting;  and  may,  as 
politics  look  now,  stay  away  over  Election  day;  so  I 
shall  return  now  very  soon,  probably  leaving  here  in  a 
week. 

On  the  following  day  Ferris  and  Merrifield  started 
for  the  East,  and  Roosevelt  set  out  on  his  solitary 
hunting  trip,  half  to  test  out  his  own  qualities  as 
a  frontiersman  and  half  to  replenish  the  larder. 

For  the  last  week  I  have  been  fulfilling  a  boyish 
ambition  of  mine  [he  wrote  to  "  Bamie  "  after  his  return 


io6  '    ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

to  the  Maltese  Cross];  that  is,  I  have  been  playing  at 
frontier  hunter  in  good  earnest,  having  been  off  entirely 
alone,  with  my  horse  and  rifle,  on  the  prairie.  I  wanted 
to  see  if  I  could  not  do  perfectly  well  without  a  guide, 
and  I  succeeded  beyond  my  expectations.  I  shot  a 
couple  of  antelope  and  a  deer  —  and  missed  a  great 
many  more.  I  felt  as  absolutely  free  as  a  man  could  feel; 
as  you  know,  I  do  not  mind  loneliness;  and  I  enjoyed 
the  trip  to  the  utmost.  The  only  disagreeable  incident 
was  one  day  when  it  rained.  Otherwise  the  weather  was 
lovely,  and  every  night  I  would  lie  wrapped  up  in  my 
blanket  looking  at  the  stars  till  I  fell  asleep,  in  the  cool 
air.  The  country  has  widely  different  aspects  in  different 
places;  one  day  I  could  canter  hour  after  hour  over  the 
level  green  grass,  or  through  miles  of  wild-rose  thickets, 
all  in  bloom;  on  the  next  I  would  be  amidst  the  savage 
desolation  of  the  Bad  Lands,  with  their  dreary  plateaus, 
fantastically  shaped  buttes,  and  deep,  winding  canyons. 
I  enjoyed  the  trip  greatly,  and  have  never  been  in  better 
health. 

George  Myers  was  holding  the  fort  at  the  Maltese 
Cross,  building  his  four-mile  fence,  keeping  an  eye 
on  the  horses  and  cattle  and  acting  as  general 
factotum  and  cook.  He  was  successful  in  every- 
thing except  his  cooking.  Even  that  was  excellent, 
except  for  an  occasional  and  unaccountable  lapse ; 
but  those  lapses  were  dire. 

It  happened  that,  on  the  day  of  his  return  to 
the  semi-civilization  of  the  Maltese  Cross,  Roosevelt 
intimated  to  George  Myers  that  baking-powder 
biscuits  would  be  altogether  welcome.  George  was 
rather  proud  of  his  biscuits  and  set  to  work  with 
energy,  adding  an  extra  bit  of  baking  powder  from 


THE  EMERALD  BISCUITS  107 

the  can  on  the  shelf  beside  the  stove  to  be  sure  that 
they  would  be  light.  The  biscuits  went  into  the 
oven  looking  as  perfect  as  any  biscuits  which  George 
had  ever  created.  They  came  out  a  rich,  emerald 
green. 

Roosevelt  and  George  Myers  stared  at  them, 
wondering  what  imp  in  the  oven  had  worked  a 
diabolical  transformation.  But  investigation  proved 
that  there  was  no  imp  involved.  It  was  merely 
that  Sylvane  or  Merrifield,  before  departing,  had 
casually  dumped  soda  into  the  baking-powder  can. 

Evidently  Roosevelt  thereupon  decided  that  if 
accidents  of  that  sort  were  liable  to  happen  to 
George,  he  had  better  take  charge  of  the  culinary 
department  himself.  George  was  off  on  the  range 
the  following  morning,  and  Roosevelt,  who  had 
stayed  home  to  write  letters,  filled  a  kettle  with 
dry  rice,  poured  on  what  looked  like  a  reasonable 
amount  of  water,  and  set  it  on  the  oven  to  cook. 
Somewhat  to  his  surprise,  the  rice  began  to  swell, 
brimming  over  on  the  stove.  He  dipped  out  what 
seemed  to  him  a  sufficient  quantity,  and  returned 
to  his  work.  The  smell  of  burning  rice  informed  him 
that  there  was  trouble  in  the  wind.  The  kettle,  he 
found,  was  brimming  over  again.  He  dipped  out 
more  rice.  All  morning  long  he  was  dipping  out 
rice.  By  the  time  George  returned,  every  bowl  in 
the  cabin,  including  the  wash-basin,  was  filled  with 
half-cooked  rice. 

Roosevelt  handed  the  control  of  the  kitchen 
back  to  George  Myers. 


VI 

Once  long  ago  an  ocean  lapped  this  hill, 
And  where  those  vultures  sail,  ships  sailed  at  will; 
Queer  fishes  cruised  about  without  a  harbor  — 
I  will  maintain  there's  queer  fish  round  here  still. 

The  Bad  Lands  Rubdiyat 

Through  the  long  days  of  that  soft,  green  June, 
Roosevelt  was  making  himself  at  home  in  his  new 
and  strange  surroundings.  A  carpenter,  whose  name 
was  the  same  as  his  trade,  built  him  a  bookcase, 
out  of  scraps  of  lumber,  and  on  the  shelves  of  it  he 
assembled  old  friends  —  Parkman  and  Irving  and 
Hawthorne  and  Cooper  and  Lowell,  "  Ike  Marvel's 
breezy  pages  and  the  quaint,  pathetic  character- 
sketches  of  the  Southern  writers  —  Cable,  Crad- 
dock,  Macon,  Joel  Chandler  Harris,  and  sweet 
Sher\vood  Bonner."  Wherever  he  went  he  carried 
some  book  or  other  about  him,  solid  books  as  a  rule, 
though  he  was  not  averse  on  occasion  to  what 
one  cowpuncher,  who  later  became  superintendent 
of  education  in  Medora,  and  is  therefore  to  be  re- 
garded as  an  authority,  reproachfully  described 
as  "  trash."  He  consumed  the  "  trash,"  it  seems, 
after  a  session  of  composition,  which  was  laborious 
to  him,  and  which  set  him  to  stalking  to  and  fro 
over  the  floor  of  the  cabin  and  up  and  down  through 
the  sagebrush  behind  it. 

He  read  and  wrote  in  odd  minutes,  as  his  body 
required  now  and  then  a  respite  from  the  outdoor 


THE  NEIGHBORS  109 

activities  that  filled  his  days;  but  in  that  first  deep 
quaffing  of  the  new  life,  the  intervals  out  of  the 
saddle  were  brief  and  given  mainly  to  meals  and 
sleep.  As  he  plunged  into  books  to  extract  from 
them  whatever  facts  or  philosophy  they  might  hold 
which  he  needed  to  enrich  his  personality  and  his 
usefulness,  so  he  plunged  into  the  life  of  the  Bad 
Lands  seeking  to  comprehend  the  emotions  and 
the  mental  processes,  the  personalities  and  the  social 
conditions  that  made  it  what  it  was.  With  a  warm 
humanity  on  which  the  shackles  of  social  prejudice 
already  hung  loose,  he  moved  with  open  eyes  and 
an  open  heart  among  the  men  and  women  whom 
the  winds  of  chance  had  blown  together  in  the  valley 
of  the  Little  Missouri. 

They  were  an  interesting  and  a  diverse  lot. 
Closest  to  the  Maltese  Cross,  in  point  of  situation, 
were  the  Eatons,  who  had  established  themselves 
two  years  previously  at  an  old  stage  station,  five 
miles  south  of  Little  Missouri,  on  what  had  been  the 
first  mail  route  between  Fort  Abraham  Lincoln  and 
Fort  Keogh.  Custer  had  passed  that  way  on  his  last, 
ill-fated  expedition,  and  the  ranch  bore  the  name  of 
the  Custer  Trail  in  memory  of  the  little  army  that  had 
camped  beside  it  one  night  on  the  way  to  the  Little 
Big  Horn.  The  two-room  shack  of  cottonwood  logs 
and  a  dirt  roof,  which  had  been  the  station,  was  in- 
habited by  calves  and  chickens  who  were  kept  in 
bounds  by  the  stockade  which  only  a  little  while 
before  had  served  to  keep  the  Indians  at  a  distance. 

The  four  Eaton  brothers  were  men  of  education 


no       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

and  family,  who  had  suffered  financial  reverses 
and  migrated  from  Pittsburgh,  where  they  Hved, 
to  "  make  their  fortunes,"  as  the  phrase  went,  in 
the  Northwest.  A  wealthy  Pennsylvanian  named 
Huidekoper,  a  lover  of  good  horses,  backed  Howard 
at  the  Custer  Trail  and  another  Easterner  named 
Van  Brunt  started  a  second  ranch  with  him, 
known  as  the  "  V-Eye,"  forty  miles  down  the 
river  at  the  mouth  of  Beaver  Creek;  a  third, 
named  "  Chris "  McGee,  who  was  a  somewhat 
smoky  light  in  the  murk  of  Pennsylvania  politics, 
went  into  partnership  with  Charles,  at  another 
ranch  six  miles  up  Beaver.  The  Custer  Trail  was 
headquarters  for  them  all,  and  at  the  same  time 
for  an  endless  procession  of  Eastern  friends  who 
came  for  the  hunting.  The  Eatons  kept  open  house. 
Travelers  wrote  about  the  hospitality  that  even 
strangers  were  certain  to  find  there,  and  carried 
away  with  them  the  picture  of  Howard  Eaton, 
"  who  sat  his  horse  as  though  he  were  a  centaur 
and  looked  a  picturesque  and  noble  figure  with 
his  clean-shaven  cheeks,  heavy  drooping  moustache, 
sombrero,  blue  shirt,  and  neckerchief  with  flaming 
ends."  About  the  time  Roosevelt  arrived,  friends 
who  had  availed  themselves  of  the  Eaton  hospitality 
until  they  were  in  danger  of  losing  their  self-respect, 
had  prevailed  on  the  reluctant  brothers  to  make 
"  dude-ranching"  a  business.  "  Eaton's  dudes  " 
became  a  notable  factor  in  the  Bad  Lands.  You 
could  raise  a  laugh  about  them  at  Bill  Williams's 
saloon  when  nothing  else  could  wake  a  smile, 


MRS.  ROBERTS  iil 

One  of  the  few  women  up  or  down  the  river 
was  Hving  that  June  at  the  Custer  Trail.  She  was 
Margaret  Roberts,  the  wife  of  the  Eatons'  foreman, 
a,  jovial,  garrulous  woman,  still  under  thirty,  with 
hair  that  curled  attractively  and  had  a  shimmer 
of  gold  in  it.  She  was  utterly  fearless,  and  was 
bringing  up  numerous  children,  all  girls,  with  a 
cool  disregard  of  wild  animals  and  wilder  men, 
which,  it  was  rumored  shocked  her  relatives  "  back 
East."  She  had  been  brought  up  in  Iowa,  but  ten 
horses  could  not  have  dragged  her  back. 

Four  or  five  miles  above  the  Maltese  Cross  lived 
a  woman  of  a  different  sort  who  was  greatly  agitating 
the  countryside,  especially  Mrs.  Roberts.  She  had 
come  to  the  Bad  Lands  with  her  husband  and 
daughter  since  Roosevelt's  previous  visit,  and  es- 
tablished a  ranch  on  what  w^as  known  as  "  Tepee 
Bottom."  Her  husband,  whose  name,  for  the  pur- 
poses of  this  narrative,  shall  be  Cummins,  had  been 
sent  to  Dakota  as  ranch  manager  for  a  syndicate 
of  Pittsburgh  men,  why,  no  one  exactly  knew, 
since  he  was  a  designer  of  stoves,  and,  so  far  as  any 
one  could  find  out,  had  never  had  the  remotest 
experience  with  cattle.  He  was  an  excellent  but 
ineffective  little  man,  religiously  inclined,  and 
consequently  dubbed  "  the  Deacon."  Nobody  paid 
very  much  attention  to  him,  least  of  all  his  wife. 
That  lady  had  drawn  the  fire  of  Mrs.  Roberts  before 
she  had  been  In  the  Bad  Lands  a  week.  She  was 
a  good  woman,  but  captious,  critical,  complaining, 
pretentious.   She  had  In  her  youth  had  social  aspira- 


112       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

tions  which  her  husband  and  a  little  town  in  Penn- 
sylvania had  been  unable  to  gratify.  She  brought 
into  her  life  in  Dakota  these  vague,  unsatisfied 
longings,  and  immediately  set  to  work  to  remould 
the  manners,  customs,  and  characters  of  the  com- 
munity a  little  nearer  to  her  heart's  desire.  To 
such  an  attitude  there  was,  of  course,  only  one 
reaction  possible;  and  she  got  it  promptly. 

Mrs.  Roberts,  energetic,  simple-hearted,  vigorous, 
plain-spoken,  was  the  only  woman  within  a  dozen 
miles,  and  it  was  not  long  before  Mrs.  Roberts 
hated  Mrs.  Cummins  as  Jeremiah  hated  Babylon. 
For  Mrs.  Cummins  was  bent  on  spreading  "  cul- 
ture," and  Mrs.  Roberts  was  determined  that  by 
no  seeming  acquiescence  should  it  be  spread  over 
her. 

"Roosevelt  was  a  great  visitor,"  said  Howard 
Eaton  in  after  time.  "  When  he  first  came  out  there, 
he  was  a  quiet  sort  of  a  fellow,  with  not  much  to 
say  to  anybody,  but  the  best  kind  of  a  mixer  I  ever 
saw." 

The  Bad  Lands  no  doubt  required  the  abilitj' 
to  mix  with  all  manner  of  men,  for  it  was  all  manner 
of  men  that  congregated  there.  Roosevelt  evaded 
the  saloons  but  established  friendly  relations  with 
the  men  who  did  not.  When  he  rode  to  town  for 
his  mail  or  to  make  purchases  at  Joe  Ferris's 
new  store,  he  contracted  the  habit  of  stopping 
at  the  ofhce  of  the  Bad  Lands  Cowboy,  where  those 
who  loved  conversation  more  than  whiskey  had  a 
way  of  foregathering. 


HELL-ROARING  BILL  JONES  113 

It  was  there  that  he  came  to  know  Hell-Roaring 
Bill  Jones. 

Bill  Jones  was  a  personage  in  the  Bad  Lands.  He 
was,  in  fact,  more  than  that.  He  was  (like  Roosevelt 
himself)  one  of  those  rare  beings  who  attain  mythical 
proportions  even  in  their  lifetime  and  draw  about 
themselves  the  legendry  of  their  generation.  Bill 
Jones  was  the  type  and  symbol  of  the  care-free 
negation  of  moral  standards  in  the  wild  little  towns 
of  the  frontier,  and  men  talked  of  him  with  an  awe 
which  they  scarcely  exhibited  toward  any  symbol 
of  virtue  and  sobriety.  He  said  things  and  he  did 
things  which  even  a  tolerant  observer,  hardened 
to  the  aspect  of  life's  seamy  side,  might  have  felt 
impelled  to  call  depraved,  and  yet  Bill  Jones 
himself  was  not  depraved.  He  was,  like  the  com- 
munity in  which  he  lived,  "  free  an'  easy."  Moral- 
ity meant  no  more  to  him  than  grammar.  He 
outraged  the  one  as  he  outraged  the  other,  without 
malice  and  without  any  sense  of  fundamental 
difference  between  himself  and  those  who  preferred 
to  do  neither. 

The  air  was  full  of  tales  of  his  extraordinary 
doings,  for  he  was  a  fighter  with  pistols  and  with 
fists  and  had  an  abiHty  as  a  "  butter  "  which  was  all 
his  own  and  which  he  used  with  deadly  effect.  What 
his  history  had  been  was  a  secret  which  he  illumi- 
nated only  fitfully.  It  was  rumored  that  he  had  been 
born  in  Ireland  of  rather  good  stock,  and  in  the 
course  of  an  argument  with  an  uncle  of  his  with  whom 
he  lived  had  knocked  the  uncle  down.  Whether  he 


114       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

had  killed  him  the  rumors  failed  to  tell,  but  the  fact 
that  Bill  Jones  had  found  it  necessary  "  to  dust  "  to 
America,  under  an  assumed  name,  suggested  several 
things.  Being  inclined  to  violence,  he  naturally  drifted 
to  that  part  of  the  country  where  violence  seemed  to 
be  least  likely  to  have  serious  consequences.  By  a 
comic  paradox,  he  joined  the  police  force  of  Bis- 
marck. He  casually  mentioned  the  fact  one  day  to 
Roosevelt,  remarking  that  he  had  left  the  force 
because  he  "  beat  the  Mayor  over  the  head  with 
his  gun  one  day." 

"  The  Mayor,  he  didn't  mind  it,"  he  added, 
"  but  the  Superintendent  of  Police  guessed  I'd 
better  resign." 

He  was  a  striking-looking  creature,  a  man  who 
could  turn  dreams  into  nightmares,  merely  by  his 
presence  in  them.  He  was  rather  short  of  stature, 
but  stocky  and  powerfully  built,  with  a  tremendous 
chest  and  long,  apelike  arms,  hung  on  a  giant's 
shoulders.  The  neck  was  a  brute's,  and  the  square 
protruding  jaw  was  in  keeping  with  it.  His  lips 
were  thin,  his  nose  was  hooked  like  a  pirate's,  and 
his  keen  black  eyes  gleamed  from  under  the  bushy 
black  eyebrows  like  a  grizzly's  from  a  cave.  He 
was  not  a  thing  of  beauty,  but,  at  the  back  of  his 
unflinching  gaze,  humor  in  some  spritely  and  satanic 
shape  was  always  disporting  itself,  and  there  was,  as 
Lincoln  Lang  described  it,  "a  certain  built-in  look 
of  drollery  in  his  face,"  which  made  one  forget  its 
hardness. , 

He  was  feared  and,  strange  to  say,  he  was  loved 


A  GOOD  MAN  FOR  SASSING  115 

by  the  very  men  who  feared  him.  For  he  was 
genial,  and  he  could  build  a  yarn  that  had  the 
architectural  completeness  of  a  turreted  castle, 
created  out  of  smoke  by  some  imaginative  minstrel 
of  hell.  His  language  on  all  occasions  was  so  fresh 
and  startling  that  men  had  a  way  of  following  him 
about  just  to  gather  up  the  poppies  and  the  night- 
shade of  his  exuberant  conversation. 

As  Will  Dow  later  remarked  about  him,  he  was 
"  an  awfully  good  man  to  have  on  your  side  if 
there  was  any  sassing  to  be  done." 

Roosevelt  was  not  one  of  those  who  fed  on  the 
malodorous  stories  which  had  gained  for  their  author 
the  further  sobriquet  of  "Foul-mouthed  Bill";  but 
he  rather  liked  Bill  Jones. ^  It  happened  one  day,  in 
the  Cowboy  office  that  June,  that  the  genial  repro- 
bate was  holding  forth  in  his  best  vein  to  an  admir- 
ing group  of  cowpunchers. 

Roosevelt,  who  was  inclined  to  be  reserved  in  the 
company  of  his  new  associates,  endured  the  flow  of 
indescribable  English  as  long  as  he  could.  Then, 
suddenly,  in  a  pause,  when  the  approving  laughter 
had  subsided,  he  began  slowly  to  **  skin  his  teeth." 

1  "As  I  recall  Bill,  his  stories  were  never  half  as  bad  as  Frank 
[Vine's],  for  instance.  Where  he  shone  particularly  was  in  excoriating 
those  whom  he  did  not  like.  In  this  connection  he  could —  and  did  — 
use  the  worst  expressions  I  have  ever  heard.  He  was  a  born  cynic, 
who  said  his  say  in  'plain  talk,'  not  'langwidge.'  For  all  that,  he  was 
filled  to  the  neck  with  humor,  and  was  a  past-master  in  the  art  of  re- 
partee, always  in  plain  talk,  remember.  Explain  it  if  you  can.  Bill 
was  roundly  hated  by  many  because  he  had  a  way  of  talking  straight 
truth.  He  had  an  uncanny  knack  of  seeing  behind  the  human  scenery 
of  the  Bad  Lands,  and  always  told  right  out  what  he  saw.  That  is 
why  they  were  all  afraid  of  him."  —  Lincoln  Lang. 


ii6       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

"  Bill  Jones,"  he  said,  looking  straight  into  the 
saturnine  face,  and  speaking  in  a  low,  quiet  voice, 
"  I  can't  tell  why  in  the  world  I  like  you,  for  you're 
the  nastiest-talking  man  I  ever  heard." 

Bill  Jones's  hand  fell  on  his  "  six-shooter."  The 
cowpunchers,  knowing  their  man,  expected  shoot- 
ing. But  Bill  Jones  did  not  shoot.  For  an  instant 
the  silence  in  the  room  was  absolute.  Gradually  a 
sheepish  look  crept  around  the  enormous  and  al- 
together hideous  mouth  of  Bill  Jones.  "  I  don't 
belong  to  your  outfit,  Mr.  Roosevelt,"  he  said,  "  and 
I'm  not  beholden  to  you  for  anything.  All  the  same, 
I  don't  mind  saying  that  mebbe  I've  been  a  little 
too  free  with  my  mouth." 

They  became  friends  from  that  day. 

If  Roosevelt  had  tried  to  avoid  the  Marquis  de 
Mores  on  his  trips  to  the  Marquis's  budding  me- 
tropolis in  those  June  days,  he  would  scarcely  have 
succeeded.  The  Marquis  was  the  most  vivid  feature 
of  the  landscape  in  and  about  Medora.  His  personal 
appearance  would  have  attracted  attention  in  any 
crowd.  The  black,  curly  hair,  the  upturned  mous- 
taches, waxed  to  needle-points,  the  heavy  eyelids, 
the  cool,  arrogant  eyes,  made  an  impression  which, 
against  that  primitive  background,  was  not  easily 
forgotten.  His  costume,  moreover,  was  extraor- 
dinary to  the  point  of  the  fantastic.  It  was  the 
Marquis  who  always  seemed  to  wear  the  widest 
sombrero,  the  loudest  neckerchief.  He  went  armed 
like  a  battleship.  A  correspondent  of  the  Mandan 
Pioneer  met  him  one  afternoon  returning  from  the 


THE  MASTER  OF  MEDORA  117 

pursuit  of  a  band  of  cattle  which  had  stampeded. 
"  He  was  armed  to  the  teeth,"  ran  his  report.  "  A 
formidable-looking  belt  encircled  his  waist,  in  which 
was  stuck  a  murderous-looking  knife,  a  large  navy 
revolver,  and  two  rows  of  cartridges,  and  in  his 
hand  he  carried  a  repeating  rifle." 

A  man  who  appeared  thus  dressed  and  accoutered 
would  either  be  a  master  or  a  joke  in  a  community 
like  Medora.  There  were  several  reasons  why  he 
was  never  a  joke.  His  money  had  something  to  do 
with  it,  but  the  real  reason  was,  in  the  words  of  a 
contemporary,  that  "  when  it  came  to  a  showdown, 
the  Marquis  was  always  there."  He  completely 
dominated  the  life  of  Medora.  His  hand  was  on 
everything,  and  everything,  it  seemed,  belonged 
to  him.  It  was  quite  like  "  Puss  in  Boots."  His 
town  was  really  booming  and  was  crowding  its 
rival  on  the  west  bank  completely  out  of  the  picture. 
The  clatter  of  hammers  on  new  buildings  sounded, 
in  the  words  of  the  editor  of  the  Cowboy,  "  like  a 
riveting  machine."  The  slaughter-house  had  al- 
ready been  expanded.  From  Chicago  came  a  score  or 
more  of  butchers,  from  the  range  came  herds  of 
cattle  to  be  slaughtered.  The  side-track  was  filled 
with  empty  cars  of  the  Northern  Pacific  Refrigerator 
Car  Company,  which,  as  they  were  loaded  with 
dressed  beef,  were  coupled  on  fast  east-bound 
trains.  The  Marquis,  talking  to  newspaper  corre- 
spondents, was  glowing  in  his  accounts  of  the  bloom- 
ing of  his  desert  rose.  He  announced  that  it  already 
had  six  hundred  inhabitants.   Another,  calmer  wit- 


ii8       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

ness  estimated  fifty.  The  truth  was  probably  a 
hundred,  including  the  fiy-by-nights.  Unquestion- 
ably, they  made  noise  enough  for  six  hundred. 

The  Marquis,  pending  the  completion  of  his 
house,  was  living  sumptuously  in  his  private  car, 
somewhat,  it  was  rumored,  to  the  annoyance  of 
his  father-in-law,  who  was  said  to  see  no  connection 
between  the  rough  life  of  a  ranchman,  in  which  the 
Marquis  appeared  to  exult,  and  the  palace  on  wheels 
in  which  he  made  his  abode.  But  he  was  never 
snobbish.  He  had  a  friendly  word  for  whoever 
drifted  into  his  ofhce,  next  to  the  company  store, 
and  generally  "  something  for  the  snake-bite," 
as  he  called  it,  that  was  enough  to  bring  benedic- 
tions to  the  lips  of  a  cowpuncher  whose  dependence 
for  stimulants  was  on  Bill  Williams's  "  Forty-Mile 
Red-Eye."  To  the  men  who  worked  for  him  he 
was  extraordinarily  generous,  and  he  was  without 
vindictiveness  toward  those  who,  since  the  killing 
of  Luffsey,  had  openly  or  tacitly  opposed  him.  He 
had  a  grudge  against  Gregor  Lang,^  whose  aversion 
to  titles  and  all  that  went  with  them  had  not  re- 
mained unexpressed  during  the  year  that  had  inter- 
vened since  that  fatal  June  26th,  but  if  he  held  any 
rancor  toward  Merrifield  or  the  Ferrises,  he  did  not 
reveal  it.    He  was  learning  a  great  deal  incidentally. 

1  "He  held  the  grudge  all  right,  and  it  may  have  been  largely  be- 
cause father  sided  against  him  in  regard  to  the  killing.  But  I  think  the 
main  reason  was  because  father  refused  to  take  any  hand  in  bringing 
about  a  consolidation  of  interests.  Pender  was  a  tremendously  rich  man 
and  had  the  ear  of  some  of  the  richest  men  in  England,  such  as  the 
Duke  of  Sutherland  and  the  Marquis  of  Tweeddale." — Lincoln  Lang. 


THE  MARQUIS'S  STAGE-LINE  119 

Shortly  before  Roosevelt's  arrival  from  the  Chi- 
cago convention,  the  Marquis  had  stopped  at  the 
Maltese  Cross  one  day  for  a  chat  with  Sylvane.  He 
was  dilating  on  his  projects,  "  spreading  himself  " 
on  his  dreams,  but  in  his  glowing  vision  of  the 
future,  he  turned,  for  once,  a  momentary  glance  of 
calm  analysis  on  the  past. 

"  If  I  had  known  a  year  ago  what  I  know  now," 
he  said  rather  sadly,  "  Riley  Luffsey  would  never 
have  been  killed." 

It  was  constantly  being  said  of  the  Marquis 
that  he  was  self-willed  and  incapable  of  taking 
advice.  The  charge  was  untrue.  The  difficulty 
was  rather  that  he  sought  advice  in  the  wrong 
quarters  and  lacked  the  judgment  to  weigh  the 
counsel  he  received  against  the  characters  and  aims 
of  the  men  who  gave  it.  He  was  constantly  pouring 
out  the  tale  of  his  grandiose  plans  to  Tom  and 
Dick  and  Abraham,  asking  for  guidance  in  affairs 
of  business  and  finance  from  men  whose  knowledge 
of  business  was  limited  to  frontier  barter  and  whose 
acquaintance  with  finance  was  of  an  altogether 
dubious  and  uneconomic  nature.  He  was  possessed, 
moreover,  by  the  dangerous  notion  that  those  who 
spoke  bluntly  were,  therefore,  of  necessity  opposed 
to  him  and  not  worth  regarding,  while  those  who 
flattered  him  were  his  friends  whose  counsel  he 
could  trust. 

It  was  this  attitude  of  mind  which  encumbered 
his  project  for  a  stage-line  to  the  Black  Hills  with 
difficulties  from  the  very  start.   The  project  itself 


120       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

was  feasible.  Deadwood  could  be  reached  only 
by  stage  from  Pierre,  a  matter  of  three  hundred 
miles.  The  distance  to  Medora  was  a  hundred 
miles  shorter.  Millions  of  pounds  of  freight  were 
accumulating  for  lack  of  proper  transportation 
facilities  to  Deadwood.  That  hot  little  mining  town, 
moreover,  needed  contact  with  the  great  trans- 
continental system,  especially  in  view  of  the  migra- 
tory movement,  which  had  begun  early  in  the  year, 
of  the  miners  from  Deadwood  and  Lead  to  the  new 
gold-fields  in  the  Cceur  d'Alenes  in  Idaho. 

Bill  Williams  and  Jess  Hogue,  with  the  aid  of 
the  twenty-eight  army  mules  which  they  had 
acquired  in  ways  that  invited  research,  had  started 
a  freight-line  from  Medora  to  Deadwood,  but  its 
service  turned  out  to  be  spasmodic,  depending 
somewhat  on  the  state  of  Medora's  thirst,  on  the 
number  of  "  suckers "  in  town  who  had  to  be 
fleeced,  and  on  the  difficulty  under  which  both 
Williams  and  Hogue  seemed  to  suffer  of  keeping 
sober  when  they  were  released  from  their  obvious 
duties  in  the  saloon.  There  appeared  to  be  every 
reason,  therefore,  why  a  stage-line  connecting 
Deadwood  with  the  Northern  Pacific,  carrying 
passengers,  mail,  and  freight,  and  organized  with 
sufficient  capital,  should  succeed. 

Dickinson,  forty  miles  east,  was  wildly  agitating 
for  such  a  line  to  run  from  that  prosperous  little 
community  to  the  Black  Hills.  The  Dickinson  Press 
and  the  Bad  Lands  Cowboy  competed  in  deriding 
e^-ch   other's  claims  touching   "  the  only  feasibly 


THE  ROAD  TO  DEADWOOD  121 

route."  The  Cowboy  said  that  the  Medora  line 
would  be  more  direct.  The  Press  agreed,  but  replied 
that  the  country  through  which  it  would  have  to 
go  was  impassable  even  for  an  Indian  on  a  pony. 
The  Cowboy  declared  that  "  the  Dickinson  road 
strikes  gumbo  from  the  start";  and  the  Press 
with  fine  scorn  answered,  "  This  causes  a  smile 
to  percolate  our  features.  From  our  experience 
in  the  Bad  Lands  we  know  that  after  a  slight  rain 
a  man  can  carry  a  whole  quarter-section  off  on  his 
boots,  and  we  don't  wear  number  twelves  either." 
The  Cowboy  insisted  that  the  Dickinson  route  "  is 
at  best  a  poor  one  and  at  certain  seasons  impass- 
able." The  Press  scorned  to  reply  to  this  charge, 
remarking  merely  from  the  heights  of  its  own 
eight  months'  seniority,  "  The  Cowboy  is  young, 
and  like  a  boy,  going  through  a  graveyard  at  night, 
is  whistling  to  keep  up  courage." 

There  the  debate  for  the  moment  rested.  But 
Dickinson,  which  unquestionably  had  the  better 
route,  lacked  a  Marquis.  While  the  Press  was 
printing  the  statements  of  army  experts  in  support 
of  its  claims,  de  Mores  was  sending  surveyors  south 
to  lay  out  his  route.  From  Sully  Creek  they  led 
it  across  the  headwaters  of  the  Heart  River  and  the 
countless  affluents  of  the  Grand  and  the  Cannonball, 
past  Slim  Buttes  and  the  Cave  Hills,  across  the 
valleys  of  the  Bellefourche  and  the  Moreau,  two 
hundred  and  twenty-five  miles  into  the  Black  Hills 
and  Dead  wood.  Dead  wood  gave  the  Marquis  a 
public  reception,  hailing  him  as  a  benefactor  of  the 


122       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

race,  and  the  Marquis,  flushed  and  seeing  visions, 
took  a  flying  trip  to  New  York  and  presented  a 
petition  to  the  directors  of  the  Northern  Pacific  for 
a  railroad  from  Medora  to  the  Black  Hills. 

The  dream  was  perfect,  and  everybody  (except 
the  Dickinson  Press)  was  happy.  Nothing  remained 
but  to  organize  the  stage  company,  buy  the  coaches, 
the  horses  and  the  freight  outfits,  improve  the  high- 
way, establish  sixteen  relay  stations,  and  get  started. 
And  there,  the  real  difficulties  commenced. 

The  Marquis,  possibly  feeling  that  it  was  the 
part  of  statesmanship  to  conciliate  a  rival,  forgot 
apparently  all  other  considerations  and  asked  Bill 
Williams,  the  saloon-keeper,  to  undertake  the 
organization  of  the  stage-line.  Williams  assidu- 
ously disposed  of  the  money  which  the  Marquis 
put  in  his  hands,  but  attained  no  perceptible 
results.  The  Marquis  turned  next  to  Bill  Williams's 
partner  in  freighting  and  faro  and  asked  Jess  Hogue 
to  take  charge.  Hogue,  who  was  versatile  and  was 
as  willing  to  cheat  a  man  in  one  way  as  in  another, 
consented  and  for  a  time  neglected  the  card-tables 
of  Williams's  "  liquor-parlor  "  to  enter  into  negoti- 
ations for  the  construction  of  the  line.  He  was  a 
clever  man  and  had  had  business  experience  of  a 
sort,  but  his  interest  in  the  Deadwood  stage-line 
did  not  reach  beyond  the  immediate  opportunity 
it  off"ered  of  acquiring  a  substantial  amount  of  the 
Marquis's  money.  He  made  a  trip  or  two  to  Bis- 
marck and  Deadwood ;  he  looked  busy ;  he  promised 
great  things;  but  nothing  happened.   The  Marquis, 


THE  MARQUIS  FINDS  A  MANAGER     123, 

considerably  poorer  in  pocket,  deposed  his  second 
manager  as  he  had  deposed  the  first,  and  looked 
about  for  an  honest  man. 

One  day  Packard,  setting  up  the  Cowboy,  was 
amazed  to  see  the  Marquis  come  dashing  into  his 
office. 

"  I  want  you  to  put  on  the  stage-line  for  me,"  he 
ejaculated. 

Packard  looked  at  him.  "But  Marquis,"  he 
answered,  "  I  never  saw  a  stage  or  a  stage-line.  I 
don't  know  anything  about  it." 

"  It  makes  no  difference,"  cried  the  Frenchman. 
"  You  will  not  rob  me." 

Packard  admitted  the  probability  of  the  last 
statement.  They  talked  matters  over.  To  Packard, 
who  was  not  quite  twenty-four,  the  prospect  of 
running  a  stage-line  began  to  look  rather  romantic. 
He  set  about  to  find  out  what  stage-lines  were  made 
of,  and  went  to  Bismarck  to  study  the  legal  docu- 
ment the  Marquis's  lawyers  had  drawn  up.  It 
specified,  in  brief,  that  A.  T.  Packard  was  to  be  sole 
owner  of  the  Medora  and  Black  Hills  Stage  and 
Forwarding  Company  when  it  should  have  paid  for 
itself  from  its  net  earnings,  which  left  nothing  to 
be  desired,  especially  as  the  total  receipts  from  sales 
of  building  lots  in  Medora  and  elsewhere  were  to 
be  considered  paj"t  of  the  earnings.  It  was  under- 
stood that  the  Marquis  was  to  secure  a  mail  contract 
from  the  Post-Office  Department  effective  with 
the  running  of  the  first  stage  sometime  in  June. 
Packard  attached  his  name  to  the  document,  and 


124       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

waited  for  the  money  which  the  Marquis  had  agreed 
to  underwrite  to  set  the  organization  in  motion. 

Day  after  day  he  waited  in  vain.  Weeks  passed. 
In  June  began  an  exodus  from  the  Black  HiMs  to 
the  Coeur  d'Alenes  that  soon  became  a  stampede. 
With  an  exasperation  that  he  found  it  difficult  to 
control,  Packard  heard  of  the  thousands  that  were 
taking  the  roundabout  journey  by  way  of  Pierre 
or  Miles  City.  He  might,  he  knew,  be  running 
every  north-bound  coach  full  from  front  to  hind 
boot  and  from  thorough-brace  to  roof-rai];  and  for 
once  the  Marquis  might  make  some  money.  He 
pleaded  for  funds  in  person  and  by  wire.  But  the 
Marquis,  for  the  moment,  did  not  have  any  funds 
to  give  him. 

Roosevelt  and  the  Marquis  were  Inevitably 
thrown  together,  for  they  were  men  whose  tastes 
In  many  respects  were  similar.  They  were  both 
fond  of  hunting,  and  fond  also  of  books,  and  the 
Marquis,  who  was  rather  solitary  in  his  grandeur  and 
possibly  a  bit  lonely,  jumped  at  the  opportunity 
Roosevelt's  presence  in  Medora  offered  for  com- 
panionship with  his  own  kind.  Roosevelt  did  not 
like  him.  He  recognized,  no  doubt,  that  if  any 
cleavage  should  come  in  the  community  to  which 
they  both  belonged,  they  would,  in  all  probability, 
not  be  found  on  the  same  side. 


VII 

An  oath  had  come  between  us  —  I  was  paid  by  Law  and  Order; 

He  was  outlaw,  rustler,  killer  —  so  the  border  whisper  ran; 

Left  his  word  in  Caliente  that  he'd  cross  the  Rio  border  — 

Call  me  coward?   But  I  hailed  him  —  "Riding  close  to  daylight,  Dan!" 

Just  a  hair  and  he'd  have  got  me,  but  my  voice,  and  not  the  warning, 
Caught  his  hand  and  held  him  steady;  then  he  nodded,  spoke  my  name, 
Reined  his  pony  round  and  fanned  it  in  the  bright  and  silent  morning. 
Back  across  the  sunlit  Rio  up  the  trail  on  which  he  came. 

Henry  Herbert  Knibbs 

It  was  already  plain  that  there  were  in  fact  two 
distinct  groups  along  the  valley  of  the  Little  Mis- 
souri. There  are  always  two  groups  in  any  com- 
munity (short  of  heaven);  and  the  fact  that  in 
the  Bad  Lands  there  was  a  law-abiding  element, 
and  another  element  whose  main  interest  in  law 
was  in  the  contemplation  of  its  fragments,  would 
not  be  worth  remarking  if  it  had  not  happened 
that  the  Marquis  had  allowed  himself  to  be  ma- 
neuvered into  a  position  in  which  he  appeared, 
and  in  which  in  fact  he  was,  the  protector  of  the 
disciples  of  violence.  This  was  due  partly  to 
Maunders's  astute  manipulations,  but  largely  also 
to  the  obsession  by  which  apparently  he  was  seized 
that  he  was  the  lord  of  the  manor  in  the  style  of 
the  ancien  regime,  not  to  be  bothered  in  his  benefi- 
cent despotism  with  the  restrictions  that  kept  the 
common  man  in  his  place.  As  a  foreigner  he  natu- 
rally cared  little  for  the  political  development  of 
the  regipn ;  as  long  as  his  own  possessions,  therefore, 


126       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

were  not  tampered  with,  he  was  not  greatly  dis- 
turbed by  any  depredations  which  his  neighbors 
might  suffer.  He  employed  hands  without  number; 
he  seemed  to  believe  any  "  fool  lie  "  a  man  felt 
inclined  to  tell  him;  he  distributed  blankets, 
saddles  and  spurs.  Naturally,  Maunders  clung  to 
him  like  a  leech  with  his  train  of  lawbreakers  about 
him. 

The  immunity  which  Maunders  enjoyed  and 
radiated  over  his  followers  was  only  one  factor  of 
many  in  perpetuating  the  lawlessness  for  which 
the  Bad  Lands  had  for  years  been  famous.  Geog- 
raphy favored  the  criminal  along  the  Little  Mis- 
souri. Montana  was  a  step  or  two  to  the  west, 
Wyoming  was  a  haven  of  refuge  to  the  southwest, 
Canada  was  within  easy  reach  to  the  north.  A 
needle  in  a  haystack,  moreover,  was  less  difficult 
to  lay  one's  finger  upon  than  a  "  two-gun  man  " 
tucked  away  in  one  of  a  thousand  ravines,  scarred 
with  washouts  and  filled  with  buckbrush,  in  the 
broken  country  west  of  Bullion  Butte. 

Western  Dakota  was  sanctuary,  and  from  every 
direction  of  the  compass  knaves  of  varying  degrees 
of  iniquity  and  misguided  ability  came  to  enjoy  it. 
There  was  no  law  in  the  Bad  Lands  but  "  six- 
shooter  law."  The  days  were  reasonably  orderly, 
for  there  were  "  jobs  "  for  every  one;  but  the  nights 
were  wild.  There  was  not  much  diversion  of  an  up- 
lifting sort  in  Medora  that  June  of  1884.  There 
was  not  even  an  "  op'ry  house."  Butchers  and 
cowboys,    carpenters    and    laborers,    adventurous 


THE  GAYETY  OF  MEDORA      127 

young  college  graduates  and  younger  sons  of  English 
noblemen,  drank  and  gambled  and  shouted  and 
"  shot  up  the  town  together  "  with  "  horse-rustlers  " 
and  faro-dealers  and  "  bad  men "  with  notches 
on  their  guns.  "  Two-gun  men "  appeared  from 
God-knows-whence,  generally  well  supplied  with 
money,  and  disappeared,  the  Lord  knew  whither, 
appearing  elsewhere,  possibly,  with  a  band  of  horses 
whose  brands  had  melted  away  under  the  appli- 
cation of  a  red-hot  frying-pan,  or  suffered  a  sea- 
change  at  the  touch  of  a  "  running  iron."  Again 
they  came  to  Medora,  and  again  they  disappeared. 
The  horse-market  was  brisk  at  Medora,  though 
only  the  elect  knew  where  it  was  or  who  bought 
and  sold  or  from  what  frantic  owner,  two  hundred 
miles  to  the  north  or  south,  the  horses  had  been 
spirited  away. 

It  was  a  gay  life,  as  Packard  remarked. 

The  "  gayety  "  was  obvious  even  to  the  most 
casual  traveler  whose  train  stopped  for  three  noisy 
minutes  at  the  Medora  "  depot."  "  Dutch  Wanni- 
gan,"  when  he  remarked  that  "  seeing  the  trains 
come  in  was  all  the  scenery  we  had,"  plumbed  the 
depths  of  Medora's  hunger  "  for  something  to 
happen."  A  train  (even  a  freight)  came  to  stand 
for  excitement,  not  because  of  any  diversion  it 
brought  of  itself  out  of  a  world  of  "  dudes  "  and 
police-officers,  but  because  of  the  deviltry  it  never 
failed  to  inspire  in  certain  leading  citizens  of  Medora. 

For  Medora  had  a  regular  reception  committee, 
whose    membership    varied,    but   included    always 


128       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

the  most  intoxicated  cowpunchers  who  happened 
to  be  in  town.  Its  leading  spirits  were  Bill  Williams, 
the  saloon-keeper,  Van  Zander,  the  wa3rward  but 
attractive  son  of  a  Dutch  patrician,  and  his  bosom 
friend,  Hell-Roaring  Bill  Jones;  and  if  they  were 
fertile  in  invention,  they  were  no  less  energetic  in 
carrying  their  inventions  into  execution.  To  shoot 
over  the  roofs  of  the  cars  was  a  regular  pastime,  to 
shoot  through  the  windows  was  not  unusual,  but 
it  was  a  genius  who  thought  of  the  notion  of  crawling 
under  the  dining-car  and  shooting  through  the  floor. 
He  scattered  the  scrambled  eggs  which  the  negro 
waiter  was  carrying,  but  did  no  other  damage. 
These  general  salvos  of  greeting,  Bill  Jones,  Bill 
Williams,  and  the  millionaire's  son  from  Rotterdam 
were  accustomed  to  vary  by  specific  attention  to 
passengers  walking  up  and  down  the  platform. 

It  happened  one  day  that  an  old  man  in  a  derby 
hat  stepped  off  the  train  for  a  bit  of  an  airing  while 
the  engine  was  taking  water.  Bill  Jones,  spying  the 
hat,  gave  an  indignant  exclamation  and  promptly 
shot  it  off  the  man's  head.  The  terrified  owner  hur- 
ried into  the  train,  leaving  the  brim  behind, 

"  Come  back,  come  back!  "  shouted  Bill  Jones, 
"  we  don't  want  the  blinkety-blank  thing  in 
Medora." 

The  old  man,  terrified,  looked  into  Bill  Jones's 
sinister  face.  He  found  no  relenting  there.  Deeply 
humiliated,  he  walked  over  to  where  the  battered 
brim  lay,  picked  it  up,  and  reentered  the  train. 

Medora,  meanwhile,  was  acquiring  a  reputation 


HOLOCAUST  129 

for  iniquity  with  overland  tourists  which  the  cow- 
boys felt  in  duty  bound  to  live  up  to.  For  a  time 
the  trains  stopped  both  at  Medora  and  Little 
Missouri.  On  one  occasion,  as  the  engine  was  taking 
water  at  the  wicked  little  hamlet  on  the  west  bank, 
the  passengers  in  the  sleeping-car,  which  was 
standing  opposite  the  Pyramid  Park  Hotel,  heard 
shots,  evidently  fired  in  the  hotel.  They  were 
horrified  a  minute  later  to  see  a  man,  apparently 
dead,  being  carried  out  of  the  front  door  and 
around  the  side  of  the  hotel  to  the  rear.  A  minute 
later  another  volley  was  heard,  and  another  "  dead  " 
man  was  seen  being  carried  out.  It  was  a  holocaust 
before  the  train  finally  drew  out  of  the  station, 
bearing  away  a  car-full  of  gasping  "  dudes." 

They  did  not  know  that  it  was  the  same  man  who 
was  being  carried  round  and  round,  and  only  the 
wise  ones  surmised  that  the  shooting  was  a  volley 
fired  over  the  "  corpse "  every  time  the  "  pro- 
cession "  passed  the  bar. 

All  this  was  very  diverting  and  did  harm  to 
nobody.  Roosevelt  himself,  no  doubt,  took  huge 
satisfaction  in  it.  But  there  were  aspects  of 
Medora's  disregard  for  the  conventions  which  were 
rather  more  serious.  If  you  possessed  anything  of 
value,  you  carried  it  about  with  you  if  you  expected 
to  find  it  when  you  wanted  it.  You  studied  the 
ways  of  itinerant  butchers  with  much  attention, 
and  if  you  had  any  cattle  of  your  own,  you  kept  an 
eye  on  the  comings  and  goings  of  everybody  who 
sold  beef  or  veal.   The  annoying  element  in  all  this 


130       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

vigilance,  however,  was  that,  even  if  you  could 
point  your  finger  at  the  man  who  had  robbed  you, 
it  did  not  profit  you  much  unless  you  were  ready 
to  shoot  him.  A  traveling  salesman,  whose  baggage 
had  been  looted  in  Medora,  swore  out  a  warrant  in 
Morton  County,  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  to  the 
east.  The  Morton  County  sheriff  came  to  serve 
the  warrant,  but  the  warrant  remained  in  his  pocket. 
He  was  ''  close-herded  "  in  the  sagebrush  across  the 
track  from  the  "depot  "  by  the  greater  part  of  the 
male  population,  on  the  general  principle  that  an 
officer  of  the  law  was  out  of  place  in  Medora  what- 
ever his  mission  might  be;  and  put  on  board  the 
next  train  going  east. 

In  all  the  turmoil,  the  Marquis  was  in  his  element. 
He  was  never  a  participant  in  the  hilarity  and  he 
was  never  known  to  "  take  a  drink  "  except  the 
wine  he  drank  with  his  meals.  He  kept  his  distance 
and  his  dignity.  But  he  regarded  the  lawlessness 
merely  as  part  of  frontier  life,  and  took  no  steps  to 
stop  it.  Roosevelt  was  too  young  and  untested  a 
member  of  the  community  to  exert  any  open 
influence  during  those  first  weeks  of  his  active  life 
in  the  Bad  Lands.  It  remained  for  the  ex-baseball 
player,  the  putative  owner  of  a  stage-line  that  re- 
fused to  materialize,  to  give  the  tempestuous  little 
community  its  first  faint  notion  of  the  benefits  of 
order. 

Packard,  as  editor  of  the  Bad  Lands  Cowboy, 
had,  in  a  manner  entirely  out  of  proportion  to  his 
personal  force,  or  the  personal  force  that  any  other 


A.  T.  PACKARD 


OFFICE  OF  THE     BAD  LANDS  COWBOY" 


INFLUENCE  OF  THE  COWBOY  131 

man  except  the  most  notable  might  have  brought  to 
bear,  been  a  civilizing  influence  from  the  beginning. 
The  train  that  brought  his  presses  from  the  East 
brought  civilization  with  it,  a  somewhat  shy  and 
wraithlike  civilization,  but  yet  a  thing  made  in  the 
image  and  containing  in  itself  the  germ  of  that 
spirit  which  is  the  antithesis  of  barbarism,  based 
on  force,  being  itself  the  visible  expression  of  the 
potency  of  ideas.  The  Bad  Laiids  Cowboy  brought 
the  first  tenuous  foreshadowing  of  democratic 
government  to  the  banks  of  the  Little  Missouri, 
inasmuch  as  it  was  an  organ  which  could  mould 
public  opinion  and  through  which  public  opinion 
might  find  articulation.  It  was  thus  that  a  young- 
ster, not  a  year  out  of  college,  became,  in  a  sense, 
the  first  representative  of  the  American  idea  in  the 
Marquis  de  Mores's  feudal  appanage. 

Packard  was  extraordinarily  well  fitted  not  only 
to  be  a  frontier  editor,  but  to  be  a*  frontier  editor 
in  Medora.  His  college  education  gave  him  a  point 
of  contact  with  the  Marquis  which  most  of  the  other 
citizens  of  the  Bad  Lands  lacked ;  his  independence 
of  spirit,  on  the  other  hand,  kept  him  from  becoming 
the  Frenchman's  tool.  He  was  altogether  fearless, 
he  was  a  crack  shot  and  a  good  rider,  and  he  was 
not  without  effectiveness  with  his  fists.  But  he 
was  also  tactful  and  tolerant;  and  he  shared,  and 
the  cowboys  knew  he  shared,  their  love  of  the  open 
country  and  the  untrammeled  ways  of  the  frontier. 
Besides,  he  had  a  sense  of  humor,  which,  in  Medora 
in  the  spring  of  1884,  was  better  than  great  riches. 


132       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

The  Cowboy  was  Packard  and  Packard  was  the 
Cowboy.  He  printed  what  he  pleased,  dictating 
his  editorials,  as  it  were,  "  to  the  machine,"  he 
himself  being  the  machine  translating  ideas  into 
type  as  they  came.  His  personal  responsibility  was 
absolute.  There  was  no  one  behind  whom  he  could 
hide.  If  any  one  objected  to  any  statement  in 
Medora's  weekly  newspaper,  he  knew  whom  to 
reproach.  "  Every  printed  word,"  said  Packard,  a 
long  time  after,  "  bore  my  brand.  There  were  no 
mavericks  in  the  Bad  Lands  Cowboy  articles.  There 
was  no  libel  law;  no  law  of  any  kind  except  six- 
shooter  rights.  And  I  was  the  only  man  who  never 
carried  a  six-shooter." 

To  a  courageous  man,  editing  a  frontier  paper 
was  an  adventure  which  had  thrills  which  editors 
in  civilized  communities  never  knew.  Packard 
spoke  his  mind  freely.  Medora  gasped  a  little. 
Packard  expressed  his  belief  that  a  drunken  man 
who  kills,  or  commits  any  other  crime,  should  be 
punished  for  the  crime  and  also  for  getting  drunk, 
and  then  there  was  trouble;  for  the  theory  of  the 
frontier  was  that  a  man  who  was  drunk  was  not 
responsible  for  what  he  did,  and  accidents  which 
happened  while  he  was  in  that  condition,  though 
unfortunate,  were  to  be  classed,  not  with  crimes, 
but  with  tornadoes  and  hailstorms  and  thunder 
bolts,  rather  as  "  acts  of  God."  The  general 
expression  of  the  editor's  opposition  to  this  amiable 
theory  brought  only  rumblings,  but  the  specific 
applications  brought  indignant  citizens  with  six- 


MOULDING  PUBLIC  OPINION  133 

shooters.  Packard  had  occasion  to  note  the  merits 
as  a  lethal  weapon  of  the  iron  "  side-stick  "  with 
which  he  locked  his  type  forms.  It  revealed  itself 
as  more  potent  than  a  six-shooter,  and  a  carving- 
knife  was  not  in  a  class  with  it;  as  he  proved  to  the 
satisfaction  of  all  concerned  when  a  drunken 
butcher,  who  attempted  to  cut  a  Chinaman  into 
fragments,  came  to  the  Cowboy  office,  "to  forestall 
adverse  comment  in  the  next  issue." 

Packard  was  amused  to  note  how  much  his 
ability  to  defend  himself  simplified  the  problem 
of  moulding  public  opinion  in  Medora. 

The  law-abiding  ranchmen  along  the  Little 
Missouri,  who  found  a  spokesman  in  the  editor  of 
the  Cowboy,  recognized  that  what  the  Bad  Lands 
needed  was  government,  government  with  a  club 
if  possible,  but  in  any  event  something  from  which 
a  club  could  be  developed.  But  the  elements  of 
disorder,  which  had  been  repulsed  when  they  had 
suggested  the  organization  of  Billings  County  a 
year  previous,  now  vigorously  resisted  organization 
when  the  impetus  came  from  the  men  who  had 
blocked  their  efforts.  But  the  Cowboy  fought  val- 
iantly, and  the  Dickinson  Press  in  its  own  way  did 
what  it  could  to  help. 

Medora  is  clamoring  for  a  county  organization  in 
Billings  County  [the  editor  reported.]  We  hope  they 
will  get  it.  If  there  is  any  place  along  the  line  that  needs 
a  criminal  court  and  a  jail  it  is  Medora.  Four- fifths  of 
the  business  before  our  justice  of  the  peace  comes  from 
Billings  County. 


134       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

A  week  later,  the  Press  reported  that  the  county 
was  about  to  be  organized  and  that  John  C.  Fisher 
and  A.  T.  Packard  were  to  be  two  out  of  the  three 
county  commissioners.  Then  something  happened. 
What  it  was  is  shrouded  in  mystery.  Possibly  the 
Marquis,  who  had  never  been  acquitted  by  a  jury 
of  the  killing  of  Riley  Luffsey,  decided  at  the  last 
minute  that,  in  case  the  indictment,  which  was  hov- 
ering over  him  like  an  evil  bird,  should  suddenly 
plunge  and  strike,  he  would  stand  a  better  chance 
away  from  Medora  than  in  it.  A  word  from  him 
to  Maunders  and  from  Maunders  to  his  "  gang  " 
would  unquestionably  have  served  to  bring  about 
the  organization  of  the  county;  a  word  spoken 
against  the  move  would  also  have  served  effectually 
to  block  it.  There  was,  however,  a  certain  opposi- 
tion to  the  movement  for  organization  on  the  part 
of  the  most  sober  elements  of  the  population. 
Some  of  the  older  ranchmen  suggested  to  Packard 
and  to  Fisher  that  they  count  noses.  They  did  so, 
and  the  result  was  not  encouraging.  Doubtless 
they  might  organize  the  county,  but  the  control 
of  it  would  pass  into  the  hands  of  the  crooked. 
Whatever  causes  lay  behind  the  sudden  evaporation 
of  the  project,  the  fact  stands  that  for  the  time  be- 
ing the  Bad  Lands  remained  under  the  easy-going 
despotism  of  the  Marquis  de  Mores  and  his  prime 
minister,  Jake  Maunders,  unhampered  and  un- 
illumined  by  the  impertinences  of  democracy. 

The  Dickinson  Press  had  truth  on  its  side  when 
it  uttered   its  wail   that  Medora  needed   housing 


THE  BASTILE  135 

facilities  for  the  unruly.  Medora  had  never  had  a 
jail.  Little  Missouri  had  had  an  eight  by  ten  shack 
which  one  man,  who  knew  some  history,  christened 
"  the  Bastile,"  and  which  was  used  as  a  sort  of 
convalescent  hospital  for  men  who  were  too  drunk 
to  distinguish  between  their  friends  and  other 
citizens  when  they  started  shooting.  But  a  sudden 
disaster  had  overtaken  the  Bastile  one  day  when  a 
man  called  Black  Jack  had  come  into  Little  Mis- 
souri on  a  wrecking  train.  He  had  a  reputation 
that  extended  from  Mandan  to  Miles  City  for  his 
ability  to  carry  untold  quantities  of  whiskey  without 
showing  signs  of  intoxication;  but  Little  Missouri 
proved  his  undoing.  The  "  jag  "  he  developed  was 
something  phenomenal,  and  he  was  finally  locked 
up  in  the  Bastile  by  common  consent.  The  train 
crew,  looking  for  Black  Jack  at  three  in  the  morning, 
located  him  after  much  searching.  But  the  Bastile 
had  been  built  by  the  soldiers  and  resisted  their 
efforts  to  break  in.  Thereupon  they  threw  a  line 
about  the  shack  and  with  the  engine  hauled  it  to  the 
side  of  a  flatcar  attached  to  the  train.  Then  with 
a  derrick  they  hoisted  Little  Missouri's  only  de- 
pository for  the  helpless  inebriate  on  the  flatcar 
and  departed  westward.  At  their  leisure  they 
chopped  Black  Jack  out  of  his  confinement.  They 
dumped  the  Bastile  over  the  embankment  some- 
where a  mile  west  of  town. 

The  collapse  of  the  efforts  of  the  champions  of 
order  to  organize  the  county  left  the  problem  of 
dealing  with  the  lawlessness  that  was  rampant,  as 


136       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

before,  entirely  to  the  impulse  of  outraged  individ- 
uals. There  was  no  court,  no  officer  of  the  law. 
Each  man  was  a  law  unto  himself,  and  settled  his 
own  quarrels.  The  wonder,  under  such  circum- 
stances, is  not  that  there  was  so  much  bloodshed, 
but  that  there  was  so  little.  There  was,  after  all, 
virtue  in  the  anarchy  of  the  frontier.  Personal 
responsibility  was  a  powerful  curb-bit. 

In  the  Bad  Lands,  in  June,  1884,  there  was  a 
solid  minority  of  law-abiding  citizens  who  could 
be  depended  on  in  any  crisis.  There  was  a  larger 
number  who  could  be  expected  as  a  rule  to  stand 
with  the  angels,  but  who  had  friendly  dealings 
with  the  outlaws  and  were  open  to  suspicion.  Then 
there  was  the  indeterminate  and  increasing  number 
of  men  whose  sources  of  revenue  were  secret,  who 
toiled  not,  but  were  known  to  make  sudden  journeys 
from  which  they  returned  with  fat  "  rolls  "  in  their 
pockets.  It  was  to  curb  this  sinister  third  group 
that  Packard  had  attempted  to  organize  the  county. 
Failing  in  that  project,  he  issued  a  call  for  a  "  mass 
meeting." 

The  meeting  was  duly  held,  and,  if  it  resembled 
the  conference  of  a  committee  more  than  a  popular 
uprising,  that  was  due  mainly  to  the  fact  that  a 
careful  census  taken  by  the  editor  of  the  Cowhoy 
revealed  that  in  the  whole  of  Billings  County, 
which  included  in  its  limits  at  that  time  a  territory 
the  size  of  Massachusetts,  there  lived  exactly  one 
hundred  and  twenty-two  males  and  twenty-seven 
females.   There  was  a  certain  hesitancy  on  the  part 


THE  MASS  MEETING  137 

even  of  the  law-abiding  to  assert  too  loudly  their 
opposition  to  the  light-triggered  elements  which 
were  "  frisking "  their  horses  and  cattle.  The 
"  mass  meeting  "  voted,  in  general,  that  order  was 
preferable  to  disorder  and  adjourned,  after  unani- 
mously electing  Packard  chief  of  police  (with  no 
police  to  be  chief  of)  and  the  Marquis  de  Mores 
head  of  the  fire  department  (which  did  not  exist). 

"  I  have  always  felt  there  was  something  I  did 
not  know  back  of  that  meeting,"  said  Packard 
afterward.  "  I  think  Roosevelt  started  it,  as  he 
and  I  were  agreed  the  smaller  ranches  were  losing 
enough  cattle  and  horses  to  make  the  difference 
between  profit  and  loss.  It  was  a  constant  topic  of 
conversation  among  the  recognized  law-and-order 
men  and  all  of  us  agreed  the  thieves  must  be  checked. 
I  don't  even  remember  how  the  decision  came 
about  to  hold  the  meeting.  It  was  decided  to  hold 
it,  however,  and  I  gave  the  notice  wide  publicity 
in  the  Bad  Lands  Cowboy.  I  was  never  more  sur- 
prised than  when  Merrifield  nominated  me  for 
chief  of  police.  Merrifield  was  a  partner  with 
Roosevelt  and  the  Ferris  boys  in  the  Chimney  Butte 
Ranch  and  I  have  always  thought  he  and  Roosevelt 
had  agreed  beforehand  to  nominate  me." 

Packard  took  up  his  duties,  somewhat  vague  in 
his  mind  concerning  what  was  expected  of  him. 
There  was  no  organization  behind  him,  no  executive 
committee  to  give  him  instructions.  With  a  large 
liberality,  characteristic  of  the  frontier,  the  "  mass 
meeting  "  had  left  to  his  own  discretion  the  demar- 


138       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

cation  of  his  "  authority  "  and  the  manner  of  its 
assertion.  His  "authority,"  in  fact,  was  a  gigantic 
bluff,  but  he  was  not  one  to  let  so  immaterial  a 
detail  weaken  his  nerve. 

The  fire  department  died  still-born;  but  the 
police  force  promptly  asserted  itself.  Packard  had 
decided  to  "  work  on  the  transients  "  first,  for  he 
could  persuade  them,  better  than  he  could  the 
residents,  that  he  had  an  organization  behind  him, 
with  masks  and  a  rope.  From  the  start  he  made  it 
a  point  not  to  mix  openly  in  any  "  altercation," 
where  he  could  avoid  it,  for  the  simple  reason  that 
the  actual  fighting  was  in  most  cases  done  by 
professional  "  bad  men,"  and  the  death  of  either 
party  to  the  duel,  or  both,  was  considered  a  source 
of  jubilation  rather  than  of  regret.  He  devoted  his 
attention  mainly  to  those  "  floaters "  whom  he 
suspected  of  being  in  league  with  the  outlaws,  or 
who,  by  their  recklessness  with  firearms,  made 
themselves  a  public  nuisance.  He  seldom,  if  ever, 
made  an  arrest.  He  merely  drew  his  man  aside 
and  told  him  that  "  it  had  been  decided  "  that  he 
should  leave  town  at  once  and  never  again  appear 
In  the  round-up  district  of  the  Bad  Lands.  In  no 
case  was  his  warning  disobeyed.  On  the  few  occa- 
sions when  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  interfere 
publicly,  there  were  always  friends  of  order  in  the 
neighborhood  to  help  him  seal  the  exile  in  a  box 
car  and  ship  him  east  or  west  on  the  next  freight. 
A  number  of  hilarious  disciples  of  justice  varied 
this  proceeding  one  evening  by  breaking  open  the 


THE  THIEVES  139 

car  in  which  one  of  Packard's  prisoners  lay  confined 
and  tying  him  to  the  cowcatcher  of  a  train  which 
had  just  arrived.  Word  came  back  from  Glendive 
at  midnight  that  the  prisoner  had  reached  his 
destination  in  safety,  though  somewhat  breathless, 
owing  to  the  fact  that  the  cowcatcher  "  had  picked 
up  a  Texas  steer  on  the  way." 

Packard's  activity  as  chief  of  police  had  value 
in  keeping  the  "  floaters  "  in  something  resembling 
order;  but  it  scarcely  touched  the  main  problem 
with  which  the  law-abiding  ranchmen  had  to  con- 
tend, which  was  the  extinction  of  the  horse  and 
cattle  thieves. 

To  an  extraordinary  extent  these  thieves  possessed 
the  Bad  Lands.  They  were  here,  there,  and  every- 
where, sinister,  intangible  shadows,  weaving  in  and 
out  of  the  bright-colored  fabric  of  frontier  life. 
They  were  in  every  saloon  and  in  almost  every 
ranch-house.  They  rode  on  the  round-ups,  they 
sat  around  the  camp-fire  with  the  cowpunchers. 
Some  of  the  most  capable  ranchmen  were  in  league 
with  them,  bankers  east  and  west  along  the  railroad 
were  hand  in  glove  with  them.  A  man  scarcely 
dared  denounce  the  thieves  to  his  best  friend  for 
fear  his  friend  might  be  one  of  them. 

There  were  countless  small  bands  which  operated 
in  western  Dakota,  eastern  Montana,  and  north- 
western Wyoming,  each  loosely  organized  as  a 
unit,  yet  all  bound  together  in  the  tacit  fellow- 
ship of  outlawry.  The  most  tangible  bond  among 
them  was  that  they  all  bought  each  other's  stolen 


I40       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

horses,  and  were  all  directors  of  the  same  "  under- 
ground railway."  Together  they  constituted  not 
a  band,  but  a  "  system,"  that  had  its  tentacles 
in  every  horse  and  cattle  "  outfit"  in  the  Bad 
Lands. 

As  far  as  the  system  had  a  head  at  all,  that  head 
was  a  man  named  Axelby.  Other  men  stole  a  horse 
here  or  there,  but  Axelby  stole  whole  herds  of  fifty 
and  a  hundred  at  one  daring  sweep.  He  was  in 
appearance  a  typical  robber  chieftain,  a  picturesque 
devil  with  piercing  black  eyes  and  a  genius  for 
organization  and  leadership.  In  addition  to  his  im- 
mediate band,  scores  of  men  whom  he  never  saw, 
and  who  were  scattered  over  a  territory  greater  than 
New  England,  served  him  with  absolute  fidelity. 
They  were  most  of  them  saloon-keepers,  gamblers, 
and  men  who  by  their  prominence  in  the  community 
would  be  unsuspected ;  and  there  were  among  them 
more  than  a  few  ranchmen  who  were  not  averse 
to  buying  horses  under  the  market  price.  With 
the  aid  of  these  men,  Axelby  created  his  smooth- 
running  "  underground  railway  "  from  the  Big  Horn 
Mountains  and  the  Black  Hills  north  through 
Wyoming,  Dakota,  and  Montana.  His  agents  in 
the  settlements  performed  the  office  of  spies,  keep- 
ing him  in  touch  with  opportunities  to  operate  on 
a  large  scale;  and  the  ranchmen  kept  open  the 
"  underground  "  route  by  means  of  which  he  was 
able  to  spirit  his  great  herds  of  horses  across  the 
Canadian  line. 

By  the  spring  of  1 884,  Axelby's  fame  had  reached 


THE  UNDERGROUND  RAILWAY        141 

the  East,  and  even  the  New  York  Sun  gave  him  a 
column: 

Mr.  Axelby  is  said  to  be  at  the  head  of  a  trusty  band 
as  fearless  and  as  lawless  as  himself.  The  Little  Missouri 
and  Powder  River  districts  are  the  theater  of  his  opera- 
tions. An  Indian  is  Mr.  Axelby 's  detestation.  He  kills 
him  at  sight  if  he  can.  He  considers  that  Indians  have 
no  right  to  own  ponies  and  he  takes  their  ponies  when- 
ever he  can.  Mr.  Axelby  has  repeatedly  announced  his 
determination  not  to  be  taken  alive.  The  men  of  the 
frontier  say  he  bears  a  charmed  life,  and  the  hairbreadth 
'scapes  of  which  they  have  made  him  the  hero  are  nu- 
merous and  of  the  wildest  stamp. 

During  the  preceding  February,  Axelby  and  his 
band  had  had  a  clash  with  the  Federal  authorities, 
which  had  created  an  enormous  sensation  up  and 
down  the  Little  Missouri,  but  had  settled  nothing 
so  far  as  the  horse- thieves  were  concerned.  In  the 
Bad  Lands  the  thieves  became  daily  more  pestifer- 
ous. Two  brothers  named  Smith  and  two  others 
called  "  Big  Jack  "  and  "  Little  Jack  "  conducted 
the  major  operations  in  Billings  County.  They  had 
their  cabin  in  a  coulee  west  of  the  Big  Ox  Bow, 
forty  miles  south  of  Medora,  in  the  wildest  part  of 
the  Bad  Lands,  and  "  worked  the  country  "  from 
there  north  and  south.  They  seldom  stole  from 
white  men,  recognizing  the  advisability  of  not 
irritating  their  neighbors  too  much,  but  drove  off 
Indian  ponies  in  herds.  Their  custom  was  to  steal 
Sioux  horses  from  one  of  the  reservations,  keep 
them  in  the  Scoria  Hills  a  month  or  more  until 


142       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

all  danger  of  pursuit  was  over,  and  then  drive  them 
north  over  the  prairie  between  Belfield  and  Medora, 
through  the  Killdeer  Mountains  to  the  north- 
eastern part  of  the  Territory.  There  they  would 
steal  other  horses  from  the  Grosventres  Indians, 
and  drive  them  to  their  cache  in  the  Scoria  Hills 
whence  they  could  emerge  with  them  at  their  good 
pleasure  and  sell  them  at  Pierre.  There  had  been 
other  *'  underground  railways,"  but  this  had  a 
charm  of  its  own,  for  it  "  carried  freight  "  both  ways. 
Occasionally  the  thieves  succeeded  in  selling  horses 
to  the  identical  Indians  they  had  originally  robbed. 
The  efficiency  of  it  all  was  in  its  way  magnificent. 
Through  the  record  of  thievery  up  and  down  the 
river,  that  spring  of  1884,  the  shadow  of  Jake 
Maunders  slips  in  and  out,  making  no  noise  and 
leaving  no  footprints.  It  was  rumored  that  when  a 
sheriff  or  a  United  States  marshal  from  somewhere 
drifted  into  Medora,  Maunders  would  ride  south 
in  the  dead  of  night  to  the  Big  Ox  Bow  and  give 
the  thieves  the  warning;  and  ride  north  again 
and  be  back  in  his  own  shack  before  dawn.  It 
was  rumored,  further,  that  when  the  thieves  had 
horses  to  sell,  Maunders  had  "  first  pick."  His 
own  nephew  was  said  to  be  a  confederate  of  Big 
Jack.  One  day  that  spring,  the  Jacks  and  Maun- 
ders's  nephew,  driving  a  herd  of  trail-weary  horses, 
stopped  for  a  night  at  Lang's  Sage  Bottom  camp. 
They  told  Lincoln  Lang  that  they  had  bought  the 
horses  in  Wyoming.  Maunders  sold  the  herd  him- 
self, and  the  news  that  came  from  the  south  that 


HELPLESSNESS  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS    143 

the  herd  had  been  stolen  made  no  perceptible 
ruffle.  The  ranchmen  had  enough  difficulty  pre- 
serving their  own  property  and  were  not  making 
any  altruistic  efforts  to  protect  the  horses  of  ranch- 
men two  hundred  miles  away.  Maunders  con- 
tinued to  flourish.  From  Deadwood  came  rumors 
that  Joe  Morrill,  the  deputy  marshal,  was  carrying 
on  a  business  not  dissimilar  to  that  which  was  mak- 
ing Maunders  rich  in  Medora. 

When  even  the  officers  of  the  law  were  in  league 
with  the  thieves  or  afraid  of  them,  there  was  little 
that  the  individual  could  do  except  pocket  his 
losses  with  as  good  grace  as  possible  and  keep  his 
mouth  shut.  The  "  system  "  tolerated  no  inter- 
ference with  its  mechanism. 

Fisher,  smarting  under  the  theft  of  six  of  the 
"  top  "  horses  from  the  Marquis  de  Mores's  "  out- 
fit "  called  one  of  the  cowboys  one  day  into  his 
office.  His  name  was  Pierce  Bolan,  and  Fisher  knew 
him  to  be  not  only  absolutely  trustworthy,  but  un- 
usually alert. 

"  You're  out  on  the  range  all  the  time,"  said 
Fisher.  "  Can't  you  give  me  a  line  on  the  fellows 
who  are  getting  away  with  our  horses?  " 

The  cowboy  hesitated  and  shook  his  head.  "  If 
I  knew,"  he  answered,  "  I  wouldn't  dare  tell  you. 
My  toes  would  be  turned  up  the  first  time  I  showed 
up  on  the  range." 

"  What  in are  we  going  to  do?  " 

"  Why,  treat  the  thieves  considerate,"  said  Bolan. 
"  Don't  get  'em  sore  on  you.   When  one  of  them 


144       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

comes  up  and  wants  the  loan  of  a  horse,  why,  let 
him  have  it." 

Fisher  turned  to  the  foreman  of  one  of  the  largest 
"  outfits  "  for  advice  and  received  a  similar  answer. 
The  reputable  stockmen  were  very  much  in  the 
minority,  it  seemed,  and  wise  men  treated  the 
thieves  with  "  consideration  "  and  called  it  insur- 
ance. 

There  were  ranchmen,  however,  who  were  too 
high-spirited  to  tolerate  the  payment  of  such  trib- 
ute in  their  behalf,  and  too  interested  in  the  future 
of  the  region  as  a  part  of  the  American  common- 
wealth to  be  willing  to  temporize  with  outlaws. 
Roosevelt  was  one  of  them,  in  the  valley  of  the 
Little  Missouri.  Another,  across  the  Montana 
border  in  the  valley  of  the  Yellowstone,  was  Gran- 
ville Stuart. 

Stuart  was  a  "  forty-niner,"  who  had  crossed 
the  continent  in  a  prairie-schooner  as  a  boy  and 
had  drifted  into  Virginia  City  in  the  days  of  its 
hot  youth.  He  was  a  man  of  iron  nerve,  and  when 
the  time  came  for  a  law-abiding  minority  to  rise 
against  a  horde  of  thieves  and  desperadoes,  he  nat- 
urally became  one  of  the  leaders.  He  played  an 
important  part  in  the  extermination  of  the  famous 
Plummer  band  of  outlaws  in  the  early  sixties,  and 
was  generally  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  notable 
figures  in  Montana  Territory. 

At  the  meeting  of  the  Montana  Stockgrowers' 
Association,  at  Miles  City  in  April,  there  had 
been  much  discussion  of  the  depredations  of  the 


GRANVILLE  STUART  145 

horse  and  cattle  thieves,  which  were  actually  threat- 
ening to  destroy  the  cattle  industry.  The  officers  of 
the  law  had  been  helpless,  or  worse,  in  dealing  with 
the  situation,  and  the  majority  of  the  cattlemen  at 
the  convention  were  in  favor  of  raising  a  small 
army  of  cowboys  and  "  raiding  the  country," 

Stuart,  who  was  president  of  the  Association, 
fought  the  project  almost  single-handed.  He  pointed 
out  that  the  "  rustlers  "  were  well  organized  and 
strongly  fortified,  each  cabin,  in  fact,  constituting 
a  miniature  fortress.  There  was  not  one  of  them 
who  was  not  a  dead  shot  and  all  were  armed  with 
the  latest  model  firearms  and  had  an  abundance 
of  ammunition.  No  "  general  clean-up  "  on  a  large 
scale  could,  Stuart  contended,  be  successfully 
carried  through.  The  first  news  of  such  a  project 
would  put  the  thieves  on  their  guard,  many  lives 
would  unnecessarily  be  sacrificed,  and  the  law,  in 
the  last  analysis,  would  be  on  the  side  of  the 
"  rustlers." 

The  older  stockmen  growled  and  the  younger 
stockmen  protested,  intimating  that  Stuart  was  a 
coward;  but  his  counsel  prevailed.  A  number  of 
them,  who  "  stood  in  "  with  the  thieves  in  the  hope 
of  thus  buying  immunity,  carried  the  report  of 
the  meeting  to  the  outlaws.  The  "  rustlers  "  were 
jubilant  and  settled  down  to  what  promised  to  be 
a  year  of  undisturbed  "  operations." 

Stuart  himself,  however,  had  long  been  convinced 
that  drastic  action  against  the  thieves  must  be 
taken;  and  had  quietly  formulated  his  plan.   When 


146       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

the  spring  round-up  was  over,  late  in  June,  he  called 
a  half-dozen  representative  ranchmen  from  both 
sides  of  the  Dakota-Montana  border  together  at  his 
ranch,  and  presented  his  project.  It  was  promptly 
accepted,  and  Stuart  himself  was  put  in  charge  of 
its  execution. 

Less  than  ten  men  in  the  whole  Northwest  knew 
of  the  movement  that  was  gradually  taking  form 
under  the  direction  of  the  patriarchal  fighting 
man  from  Fergus  County;  but  the  Marquis  de 
Mores  was  one  of  those  men.  He  told  Roosevelt. 
Stuart's  plan,  it  seems,  was  to  organize  the  most 
solid  and  reputable  ranchmen  in  western  Montana 
into  a  company  of  vigilantes  similar  to  the  company 
which  had  wiped  out  the  Plummer  band  twenty 
years  previous.  Groups  of  indignant  citizens  who 
called  themselves  vigilantes  had  from  time  to  time 
attempted  to  conduct  what  were  popularly  known  as 
"  necktie  parties,"  but  they  had  failed  in  almost 
every  case  to  catch  their  man,  for  the  reason  that 
the  publicity  attending  the  organization  had  given 
the  outlaws  ample  warning  of  their  peril.  It  was 
Stuart's  plan  to  organize  in  absolute  secrecy,  and 
fall  on  the  horse-thieves  like  a  bolt  from  the  blue. 

The  raid  was  planned  for  late  in  July.  It  was 
probably  during  the  last  days  of  June  that  Roosevelt 
heard  of  it.  With  him,  when  the  Marquis  unfolded 
the  project  to  him,  was  a  young  Englishman  named 
Jameson  (brother  of  another  Jameson  who  was 
many  years  later  to  stir  the  world  with  a  raid  of 
another  sort).    Roosevelt  and  young  Jameson,  who 


THE  THREE  ARGONAUTS  147 

shared  a  hearty  dislike  of  seeing  lawbreakers 
triumphant,  and  were  neither  of  them  averse  to  a 
little  danger  in  confounding  the  public  enemy, 
announced  with  one  accord  that  they  intended  to 
join  Stuart's  vigilantes.  The  Marquis  had  already 
made  up  his  mind  that  in  so  lurid  an  adventure  he 
would  not  be  left  out.  The  three  of  them  took  a 
west-bound  train  and  met  Granville  Stuart  at 
Glendive. 

But  Stuart  refused  pointblank  to  accept  their 
services.  They  were  untrained  for  frontier  condi- 
tions, he  contended;  they  were  probably  reckless 
and  doubtlessly  uncontrollable;  and  would  get 
themselves  killed  for  no  reason;  above  all,  they 
were  all  three  of  prominent  families.  If  anything 
happened  to  them,  or  if  merely  the  news  were  spread 
abroad  that  they  were  taking  part  in  the  raid, 
the  attention  of  the  whole  country  would  be  drawn 
to  an  expedition  in  which  the  element  of  surprise 
was  the  first  essential  for  success. 

The  three  young  argonauts  pleaded,  but  the 
old  pioneer  was  obdurate.  He  did  not  want  to 
have  them  along,  and  he  said  so  with  all  the  courtesy 
that  was  one  of  his  graces  and  all  the  precision 
of  phrase  that  a  life  in  the  wild  country  had  given 
him.  Roosevelt  and  the  Englishman  saw  the  justice 
of  the  veteran's  contentions  and  accepted  the 
situation,  but  the  Marquis  was  aggrieved.  Gran- 
ville Stuart,  meanwhile,  having  successfully  side- 
tracked the  three  musketeers,  proceeded  silently 
to  gather  his  clansmen. 


VIII 

All  day  long  on  the  prairies  I  ride, 

Not  even  a  dog  to  trot  by  my  side; 

My  fire  I  kindle  with  chips  gathered  round, 

My  coffee  I  boil  without  being  ground. 

I  wash  in  a  pool  and  wipe  on  a  sack; 
I  carry  my  wardrobe  all  on  my  back; 
For  want  of  an  oven  I  cook  bread  in  a  pot, 
And  sleep  on  the  ground  for  want  of  a  cot. 

My  ceiling  is  the  sky,  my  floor  is  the  grass, 
My  music  is  the  lowing  of  the  herds  as  they  pass; 
My  books  are  the  brooks,  my  sermons  the  stones, 
My  parson  is  a  wolf  on  his  pulpit  of  bones. 

Cowboy  song 

Roosevelt's  first  weeks  at  the  Maltese  Cross 
proved  one  thing  to  him  beyond  debate;  that  was, 
that  the  cabin  seven  miles  south  of  Medora  was 
not  the  best  place  in  the  world  to  do  literary  work. 
The  trail  south  led  directly  through  his  dooryard, 
and  loquacious  cowpunchers  stopped  at  all  hours 
to  pass  the  time  of  day.  It  was,  no  doubt,  all 
"perfectly  bully";  but  you  did  not  get  much 
writing  done,  and  even  your  correspondence  suffered. 
Roosevelt  had  made  up  his  mind,  soon  after  his 
arrival  early  in  the  month,  to  bring  Sewall  and 
Dow  out  from  Maine,  and  on  his  return  from  his 
solitary  trip  over  the  prairie  after  antelope,  he  set 
out  to  locate  a  site  for  a  ranch,  where  the  two 
backwoodsmen  might  hold  some  cattle  and  where 
at  the  same  time  he  might  find  the  solitude  he 
needed  for  his  literary  work.  On  one  of  his  exploring 


THE  NEW  RANCH  149 

expeditions  down  the  river,  he  met  Howard  Eaton 
riding  south  to  the  railroad  from  his  V-Eye  Ranch 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Big  Beaver,  to  receive  a  train- 
load  of  cattle.  He  told  Eaton  the  object  of  his 
journeying,  and  Eaton,  who  knew  the  country  better 
possibly  than  any  other  man  in  the  Bad  Lands, 
advised  him  to  look  at  a  bottom  not  more  than 
five  miles  up  the  river  from  his  own  ranch.  Roose- 
velt rode  there  promptly.  The  trail  led  almost 
due  north,  again  and  again  crossing  the  Little 
Missouri  which  wound  in  wide  sigmoid  curves, 
now  between  forbidding  walls  of  crumbling  lime- 
stone and  baked  clay,  now  through  green  acres  of 
pasture-land,  or  silvery  miles  of  level  sagebrush. 

The  country  was  singularly  beautiful.  On  his 
left,  as  he  advanced,  grassy  meadows  sloped  to  a 
wide  plateau,  following  the  curve  of  the  river. 
The  valley  narrowed.  He  forded  the  stream.  The 
trail  rose  sharply  between  steep  walls  of  olive  and 
lavender  that  shut  off  the  sun;  it  wound  through 
a  narrow  defile;  then  over  a  plateau,  whence  blue 
seas  of  wild  country  stretched  northward  into  the 
haze;  then  sharply  down  again  into  a  green  bottom, 
walled  on  the  west  by  buttes  scarred  like  the  face 
of  an  old  man.  He  forded  the  stream  once  more, 
swung  round  a  jutting  hill,  and  found  the  end  of 
the  bottom-land  in  a  grove  of  cottonwoods  under 
the  shadow  of  high  buttes.  At  the  edge  of  the 
river  he  came  upon  the  interlocked  antlers  of  two 
elk  who  had  died  in  combat.  He  determined  that  it 
was  there  that  his  "  home-ranch"  should  stand. 


ISO       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

For  three  weeks  Roosevelt  was  in  the  saddle  every 
day  from  dawn  till  night,  riding,  often  in  no  company 
but  his  own,  up  and  down  the  river,  restless  and 
indefatigable.  On  one  of  his  solitary  rides  he  stopped 
at  Mrs.  Maddox's  hut  to  call  for  the  buckskin  suit 
he  had  ordered  of  her.  She  was  a  woman  of  terrible 
vigor,  and  inspired  in  Roosevelt  a  kind  of  awe 
which  none  of  the  "  bad  men  "  of  the  region  had 
been  able  to  make  him  feel. 

She  invited  him  to  dinner.  While  she  was  prepar- 
ing the  meal,  he  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  cabin.  He 
had  a  habit  of  carrying  a  book  with  him  wherever 
he  went  and  he  was  reading,  altogether  absorbed, 
when  suddenly  Mrs.  Maddox  stumbled  over  one  of 
his  feet. 

"  Take  that  damn  foot  away!  "  she  cried  in  tones 
that  meant  business.^  Roosevelt  took  his  foot  away, 
"  and  all  that  was  attached  to  it,"  as  one  of  his 
cowboy  friends  explained  subsequently,  waiting 
outside  until  the  call  for  dinner  came.  He  ate  the 
dinner  quickly,  wasting  no  words,  not  caring  to 
run  any  risk  of  stirring  again  the  fury  of  Mrs. 
Maddox. 

It  was  on  another  solitary  ride,  this  time  in  pur- 
suit of  stray  horses, —  the  horses,  he  found,  were 

^  "  I  am  inclined  to  doubt  the  truth  of  this  story.  Mrs.  Maddox 
was  a  terror  only  to  those  who  took  her  wrong  or  tried  to  put  it  over 
her.  Normally  she  was  a  very  pleasant  woman  with  a  good,  strong 
sense  of  humor.  My  impression  is  she  took  a  liking  to  T.  R.  that  time 
I  took  him  there  to  be  measured  for  his  suit.  If  she  ever  spoke  as 
above,  she  must  have  been  on  the  war-path  about  something  else  at 
the  time."  — Lincoln  Lang. 


THE  BULLY  AT  MINGUSVILLE         151 

always  straying, —  that  he  had  an  adventure  of  a 
more  serious  and  decidedly  lurid  sort.  The  horses 
had  led  him  a  pace  through  the  Bad  Lands  westward 
out  over  the  prairie,  and  night  overtook  him  not 
far  from  Mingusville,  a  primitive  settlement  named 
thus  with  brilliant  ingenuity  by  its  first  citizens, 
a  lady  by  the  name  of  Minnie  and  her  husband 
by  the  name  of  Gus.  The  "  town  "  — what  there 
was  of  it  —  was  pleasantly  situated  on  rolling 
country  on  the  west  bank  of  Beaver  Creek.  Along 
the  east  side  of  the  creek  were  high,  steep,  cream- 
colored  buttes,  gently  rounded  and  capped  with 
green,  softer  in  color  than  the  buttes  of  the  Bad 
Lands  and  very  attractive  in  spring  in  their  frame 
of  grass  and  cottonwoods  and  cedars.  Mingusville 
consisted  of  the  railroad  station,  the  section-house, 
and  a  story-and-a-half  "  hotel  "  with  a  false  front. 
The  "  hotel  "  was  a  saloon  with  a  loft  where  you 
might  sleep  if  you  had  courage. 

Roosevelt  stabled  his  horse  in  a  shed  behind  the 
"  hotel,"  and  started  to  enter. 

Two  shots  rang  out  from  the  barroom. 

He  hesitated.  He  had  made  it  a  point  to  avoid 
centers  of  disturbance  such  as  this,  but  the  night 
was  chilly  and  there  was  no  place  else  to  go.  He 
entered,  with  misgivings. 

Inside  the  room  were  several  men,  beside  the 
bartender,  all,  with  one  exception,  "  wearing  the 
kind  of  smile,"  as  Roosevelt  said,  in  telling  of  the 
occasion,  "  worn  by  men  who  are  making-believe  to 
like  what  they  don't  like."   The  exception  was  a 


152       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

shabby-looking  individual  in  a  broad -brimmed  hat 
who  was  walking  up  and  down  the  floor  talking  and 
swearing.  He  had  a  cocked  gun  in  each  hand.  A 
clock  on  the  wall  had  two  holes  in  its  face,  which 
accounted  for  the  shots  Roosevelt  had  heard. 

It  occurred  to  Roosevelt  that  the  man  was  not 
a  "  bad  man  "  of  the  really  dangerous,  man-killer 
type;  but  a  would-be  "  bad  man,"  a  bully  who 
for  the  moment  was  having  things  all  his  own 
way. 

"  Four-eyes!  "  he  shouted  as  he  spied  the  new- 
comer. 

There  was  a  nervous  laugh  from  the  other  men 
who  were  evidently  sheepherders.  Roosevelt  joined 
in  the  laugh. 

"  Four-eyes  is  going  to  treat!  "  shouted  the  man 
with  the  guns. 

There  was  another  laugh.  Under  cover  of  it 
Roosevelt  walked  quickly  to  a  chair  behind  the 
stove  and  sat  down,  hoping  to  escape  further  notice. 

But  the  bully  was  not  inclined  to  lose  what  looked 
like  an  opportunity  to  make  capital  as  a  ''  bad 
man"  at  the  expense  of  a  harmless  "dude"  in  a 
fringed  buckskin  suit.  He  followed  Roosevelt  across 
the  room. 

"  Four-eyes  is  going  to  treat,"  he  repeated. 

Roosevelt  passed  the  comment  off  as  a  joke.  But 
the  bully  leaned  over  Roosevelt,  swinging  his  guns, 
and  ordered  him,  in  language  suited  to  the  sur- 
roundings, "  to  set  up  the  drinks  for  the  crowd." 

For  a.  mornent  Roosevelt  s^t  silent,  letting  the 


THE  END  OF  THE  BULLY  153 

filthy  storm  rage  round  him.  It  occurred  to  him  in 
a  flash  that  he  was  face  to  face  with  a  crisis  vastly 
more  significant  to  his  future  than  the  mere  question 
whether  or  not  he  should  let  a  drunken  bully  have 
his  way.  If  he  backed  down,  he  said  to  himself, 
he  would,  when  the  news  of  it  spread  abroad,  have 
more  explaining  to  do  than  he  would  care  to  under- 
take. It  was  altogether  a  case  of  "  Make  good  now, 
or  quit!  " 

The  bully  roared,  "  Set  up  the  drinks!  " 

It  struck  Roosevelt  that  the  man  was  foolish  to 
stand  so  near,  with  his  heels  together.  "  Well,  if 
I've  got  to,  I've  got  to,"  he  said  and  rose  to  his 
feet,  looking  past  his  tormentor. 

As  he  rose  he  struck  quick  and  hard  with  his 
right  just  to  one  side  of  the  point  of  the  jaw,  hitting 
with  his  left  as  he  straightened  out,  and  then  again 
with  his  right. 

The  bully  fired  both  guns,  but  the  bullets  went 
wide  as  he  fell  like  a  tree,  striking  the  corner  of  the 
bar  with  his  head.  It  occurred  to  Roosevelt  that 
it  was  not  a  case  in  which  one  could  afford  to  take 
chances,  and  he  watched,  ready  to  drop  with  his 
knees  on  the  man's  ribs  at  the  first  indication  of 
activity.  But  the  bully  was  senseless.  The  sheep- 
herders,  now  loud  in  their  denunciations,  hustled 
the  would-be  desperado  into  a  shed. 

Roosevelt  had  his  dinner  in  a  corner  of  the  dining- 
room  away  from  the  windows,  and  he  went  to  bed 
without  a  light.  But  the  man  in  the  shed  made  no 
move  to  recover  his  shattered  prestige.    When  he 


154       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

came  to,  he  went  to  the  station,  departing  on  a 
freight,  and  was  seen  no  more. 

The  news  of  Roosevelt's  encounter  in  the  "  rum- 
hole  "  in  Mingusville  spread  as  only  news  can  spread 
in  a  country  of  few  happenings  and  much  conversa- 
tion. It  was  the  kind  of  story  that  the  Bad  Lands 
liked  to  hear,  and  the  spectacles  and  the  fringed 
buckskin  suit  gave  it  an  added  attraction.  "  Four- 
eyes  "  became,  overnight,  "  Old  Four  Eyes,"  which 
was  another  matter. 

"  Roosevelt  was  regarded  by  the  cowboys  as  a 
good  deal  of  a  joke  until  after  the  saloon  incident," 
said  Frank  Greene,  a  local  official  of  the  Northern 
Pacific,  many  years  later.  "  After  that  it  was  dif- 
ferent." 

Roosevelt  departed  for  the  East  on  July  ist. 
On  the  4th,  the  Mandan  Pioneer  published  an 
editorial  about  him  which  expressed,  in  exuberant 
Dakota  fashion,  ideas  which  may  well  have  been 
stirring  in  Roosevelt's  own  mind. 

Our  friends  west  of  us,  at  Little  Missouri,  are  now 
being  made  happy  by  the  presence  among  them  of  that 
rare  bird,  a  political  reformer.  By  his  enemies  he  is 
called  a  dude,  an  aristocrat,  a  theorist,  an  upstart,  and 
the  rest,  but  it  would  seem,  after  all,  that  Mr.  Roosevelt 
has  something  in  him,  or  he  would  never  have  succeeded 
in  stirring  up  the  politicians  of  the  Empire  State.  Mr. 
Roosevelt  finds,  doubtless,  the  work  of  a  reformer  to 
be  a  somewhat  onerous  one,  and  it  is  necessary,  for  his 
mental  and  physical  health,  that  he  should  once  and 
again  leave  the  scene  of  his  political  labors  and  refresh 
himself  with  a  little  ozone,  such  as  is  to  be  found  pure 
and  unadulterated  in  the  Bad  Lands.    Mr.  Roosevelt  is 


DAKOTA  DISCOVERS  ROOSEVELT       155 

not  one  of  the  fossilized  kind  of  politicians  who  beHeves 
in  staying  around  the  musty  halls  of  the  Albany  capitol 
all  the  time.  He  thinks,  perhaps,  that  the  man  who 
lives  in  those  halls,  alternating  between  them  and  the 
Delavan  House,  is  likely  to  be  troubled  with  physical 
dyspepsia  and  mental  carbuncles.  Who  knows  but  that 
John  Kelly  might  to-day  be  an  honored  member  of 
society  —  might  be  known  outside  of  New  York  as  a 
noble  Democratic  leader  —  if  he  had  been  accustomed 
to  spend  some  of  his  time  in  the  great  and  glorious  West? 
Tammany  Hall,  instead  of  being  to-day  the  synonym  for 
all  that  is  brutal  and  vulgar  in  politics,  might  be  to-day 
another  name  for  all  that  is  fresh,  and  true,  ozonic  and 
inspiring  in  the  political  arena.  If  the  New  York  politi- 
cians only  knew  it,  they  might  find  it  a  great  advantage 
to  come  once  or  twice  a  year  to  West  Dakota,  to  blow 
the  cobwebs  from  their  eyes,  and  get  new  ambitions, 
new  aspirations,  and  new  ideas.  Mr.  Roosevelt,  although 
young,  can  teach  wisdom  to  the  sophisticated  machine 
politicians,  who  know  not  the  value  to  an  Easterner  of 
a  blow  among  the  fresh,  fair  hills  of  this  fair  territory. 

One  wonders  whether  the  editor  is  not,  in  part, 
quoting  Roosevelt's  own  words.  No  doubt,  Roose- 
velt was  beginning  already  to  realize  what  he  was 
gaining  in  the  Bad  Lands. 

Roosevelt  spent  three  weeks  or  more  in  the  East; 
at  New  York  w^here  the  politicians  were  after  him, 
at  Oyster  Bay  where  he  was  building  a  new  house, 
and  at  Chestnut  Hill  near  Boston,  which  was  closely 
connected  w^ith  the  memories  of  his  brief  married 
life.  Everywhere  the  reporters  tried  to  extract 
from  him  some  expression  on  the  political  campaign, 
but  on   that   subject  he  was  reticent.    He  issued 


156       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

a  statement  in  Boston,  declaring  his  intention  to 
vote  the  RepubHcan  ticket,  but  further  than  that 
he  refused  to  commit  himself.  But  he  talked  of  the 
Bad  Lands  to  any  one  who  would  listen. 

I  like  the  West  and  I  like  ranching  life  [he  said  to 
a  reporter  of  the  New  York  Tribune  who  interviewed 
him  at  his  sister's  house  a  day  or  two  before  his  return 
to  Dakota].  On  my  last  trip  1  was  just  three  weeks 
at  the  ranch  and  just  twenty-one  days,  of  sixteen  hours 
each,  in  the  saddle,  either  after  cattle,  taking  part  in 
the  "  round-up,"  or  hunting.  It  would  electrify  some  of 
my  friends  who  have  accused  me  of  representing  the 
kid-gloved  element  in  politics  if  they  could  see  me 
galloping  over  the  plains,  day  in  and  day  out,  clad  in  a 
buckskin  shirt  and  leather  chaparajos,  with  a  big  som- 
brero on  my  head.  For  good,  healthy  exercise  I  would 
strongly  recommend  some  of  our  gilded  youth  to  go 
West  and  try  a  short  course  of  riding  bucking  ponies, 
and  assist  at  the  branding  of  a  lot  of  Texas  steers. 

There  is  something  charmingly  boyish  in  his 
enthusiasm  over  his  own  manly  valor  and  his  con- 
fidence in  its  "  electrifying  "  effect. 

Roosevelt  wrote  to  Sewall  immediately  after 
his  arrival  in  the  East,  telling  him  that  he  would 
take  him  West  with  him.  Toward  the  end  of  July, 
Sewall  appeared  in  New  York  with  his  stalwart 
nephew  in  tow.  The  contract  they  entered  into 
with  Roosevelt  was  merely  verbal.  There  was  to 
be  a  three-year  partnership.  If  business  were  pros- 
perous, they  were  to  have  a  share  in  it.  If  it 
were  not,  they  were  to  have  wages,  whatever  hap- 
pened. 


STUART'S  VIGILANTES  157 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that,  Bill?  "  asked 
Roosevelt. 

"  Why,"  answered  Bill  in  his  slow,  Maine  way, 
**  I  think  that's  a  one-sided  trade.  But  if  you  can 
stand  it,  I  guess  we  can." 

That  was  all  there  was  to  the  making  of  the  con- 
tract. On  the  28th  the  three  of  them  started 
westward. 

In  the  cattle  country,  meanwhile,  things  had  been 
happening.  Shortly  after  Roosevelt's  departure  for 
the  East,  Granville  Stuart  had  gathered  his  clans, 
and,  suddenly  and  without  warning,  his  bolt  from 
the  blue  had  fallen  upon  the  outlaws  of  Montana. 
At  a  cabin  here,  at  a  deserted  lumber-camp  there, 
where  the  thieves,  singly  or  in  groups,  made  their 
headquarters,  the  masked  riders  appeared  and  held 
their  grim  proceedings.  There  was  no  temporizing, 
and  little  mercy.  Justice  was  to  be  done,  and  it 
was  done  with  all  the  terrible  relentlessness  that 
always  characterizes  a  free  citizen  when  he  takes 
back,  for  a  moment,  the  powers  he  has  delegated  to 
a  government  which  in  a  crisis  has  proved  impotent 
or  unwilling  to  exercise  them.  A  drumhead  court- 
martial  might  have  seemed  tedious  and  technical 
in  comparison  with  the  sharp  brevity  of  the  trials 
under  the  ominous  cottonwoods. 

Out  of  the  open  country,  where  "  Stuart's 
vigilantes  "  were  swooping  on  nest  after  nest  of 
the  thieves,  riders  came  with  stories  that  might 
well  have  sent  shudders  down  the  backs  even  of 
innocent   men.   The   newspapers   were   filled   with 


158       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

accounts  of  lifeless  bodies  left  hanging  from  count- 
less cottonwoods  in  the  wake  of  the  raiders,  tales  of 
battles  in  which  the  casualties  were  by  no  means 
all  on  one  side,  and  snatches  of  humor  that  was 
terrible  against  the  background  of  black  tragedy. 
Some  of  the  stories  were  false,  some  were  fantastic 
exaggerations  of  actual  fact  sifted  through  excited 
imaginations.  Those  that  were  bare  truth  were  in 
all  conscience  grim  enough  for  the  most  morbid 
mind.  The  yarns  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth,  from 
ranch  to  ranch.  Cowboys  were  hard  to  hold  to 
their  work.  Now  that  a  determined  man  had  shown 
the  way,  everybody  wanted  to  have  a  part  in  the 
last  great  round-up  of  the  unruly.  The  excitement 
throughout  the  region  was  intense.  Here  and 
there  subsidiary  bands  were  formed  to  "  clean  up 
the  stragglers."  Thoughtful  men  began  to  have 
apprehensions  that  it  might  prove  more  difficult  to 
get  the  imp  of  outraged  justice  back  into  the  bottle 
than  it  had  been  to  let  him  out. 

The  raiders  skirted  the  Bad  Lands  on  the  north, 
pushing  on  east  to  the  Missouri,  and  for  a  time 
Medora's  precious  collection  of  desperadoes  re- 
mained undisturbed.  There  were  rumors  that 
Maunders  was  on  the  books  of  Stuart's  men,  but 
under  the  wing  of  the  Marquis  he  was  well  pro- 
tected, and  that  time,  at  least,  no  raiders  came 
to  interrupt  his  divers  and  always  profitable  ac- 
tivities. 

Roosevelt  reached  Medora  with  Sewall  and  Dow 
on  July  31st.   A  reporter  of  the  Pioneer  interviewed 


SEWALL  AND  DOW  159 

him    while    the    train    was    changing    engines    at 
Mandan. 

Theodore  Roosevelt,  the  New  York  reformer,  was 
on  the  west-bound  train  yesterday,  en  route  to  his  ranch 
near  Little  Missouri  [ran  the  item  in  the  next  day's 
issue].  He  was  feeling  at  his  best,  dressed  in  the  careless 
style  of  the  country  gentleman  of  leisure,  and  spoke 
freely  on  his  pleasant  Dakota  experience  and  politics 
in  the  East.  He  purposes  spending  several  weeks  on  his 
ranch,  after  which  he  will  return  East.  ...  Mr. 
Roosevelt  believes  that  the  young  men  of  our  country 
should  assume  a  spirit  of  independence  in  politics.  He 
would  rather  be  forced  to  the  shades  of  private  life  with 
a  short  and  honorable  career  than  be  given  a  life  tenure 
of  political  prominence  as  the  slave  of  a  party  or  its 
masters. 

Roosevelt  brought  his  two  backwoodsmen 
straight  to  the  Maltese  Cross.  The  men  from  Maine 
were  magnificent  specimens  of  manhood.  Sewall, 
nearing  forty,  with  tremendous  shoulders  a  little 
stooped  as  though  he  were  accustomed  to  passing 
through  doorways  that  were  too  low  for  him; 
Dow,  twenty-eight  or  twenty-nine,  erect  and  clear- 
eyed.  They  looked  on  the  fantastic  landscape  with 
quiet  wonderment. 

"  Well,  Bill,"  remarked  Roosevelt  that  night, 
"  what  do  you  think  of  the  country?  " 

"  Why,"  answered  the  backwoodsman,  "  I  like 
the  country  well  enough.  But  I  don't  believe  that 
it's  much  of  a  cattle  country." 

"Bill,"  said  Roosevelt  vigorously,  "you  don't 
know  anything  about  it.  Everybody  says  that  it  is." 


i6o       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Sewall  laughed  softly.  "  It's  a  fact  that  I  don't 
know  anything  about  it,"  he  said.  "  I  realize  that. 
But  it's  the  way  it  looks  to  me,  like  not  much  of  a 
cattle  country." 

During  Roosevelt's  absence  in  the  East,  Merri- 
field  and  Sylvane  had  returned  from  Iowa  with  a 
thousand  head  of  yearlings  and  "  two-year-olds." 
A  hundred  head  of  the  original  herd,  which  had 
become  accustomed  to  the  country,  he  had  already 
set  apart  for  the  lower  ranch,  and  the  day  after 
his  arrival  he  sent  the  two  backwoodsmen  north 
with  them,  under  the  general  and  vociferous  direc- 
tion of  a  certain  Captain  Robins.  The  next  day,  in 
company  with  a  pleasant  Englishman  who  had  ac- 
companied him  West,  he  rode  up  the  river  to  Lang's. 

The  ranch  of  the  talkative  Scotchman  had  suffered 
a  joyous  change  since  Roosevelt's  last  visit.  A 
w^ek  or  two  previous  Gregor  Lang's  wife  had  ar- 
rived from  Ireland  with  her  daughter  and  younger 
son,  and  a  visit  at  Yule,  as  Lang  had  called  his 
ranch,  was  a  different  thing  from  what  it  had  been 
when  it  had  been  under  masculine  control.  The  new 
ranch-house  was  completed,  and  though  it  was 
not  large  it  was  vastly  more  homelike  than  any 
other  cabin  on  the  river  with  the  possible  exception 
of  the  Eatons'.  It  stood  in  an  open  flat,  facing 
north,  with  a  long  butte  behind  it;  and  before  it, 
beyond  a  wide  semi-circle  of  cottonwoods  that 
marked  the  river's  course,  low  hills,  now  gray  and 
now  green,  stretching  away  to  the  horizon.  It  was 
a  curiously  Scotch  landscape,   especially  at  dusk 


MRS.  LANG  i6i 

or  in  misty  weather,  which  was  no  doubt  a  reason 
why  Gregor  Lang  had  chosen  it  for  his  home. 

Mrs.  Lang  proved  to  be  a  woman  of  evident 
character  and  ability.  She  was  well  along  in  the 
forties,  but  in  her  stately  bearing  and  the  magnifi- 
cent abundance  of  her  golden  hair,  that  had  no 
strand  of  gray  in  it,  lay  more  than  a  hint  of  the 
beauty  that  was  said  to  have  been  hers  in  her  youth. 
There  was  wistfulness  in  the  delicate  but  firm 
mouth  and  chin;  there  was  vigor  in  the  broad 
forehead  and  the  well-proportioned  nose;  and  humor 
in  the  shrewd,  quiet  eyes  set  far  apart.  She  be- 
longed to  an  old  Border  family,  and  had  lived  all 
her  life  amid  the  almost  perfect  adjustments  of 
well-to-do  British  society  of  the  middle  class, 
where  every  cog  was  greased  and  every  v/heel  was 
ball-bearing.  But  she  accepted  the  grating  exist- 
ence of  the  frontier  with  something  better  than 
resignation,  and  set  about  promptly  in  a  wild  and 
alien  country  to  make  a  new  house  into  a  new  home. 

While  Roosevelt  was  getting  acquainted  with 
the  new-comers  at  Yule,  Sewall  and  Dow  were 
also  getting  acquainted  with  many  people  and  things 
that  were  strange  to  them.  They  took  two  days 
for  the  ride  from  the  Maltese  Cross  to  the  site  of 
the  new  ranch,  for  the  river  was  high  and  they 
were  forced  to  take  a  roundabout  trail  over  the 
prairie;  the  cattle,  moreover,  could  be  driven  only 
at  a  slow  pace;  but  even  twenty-odd  miles  a  day 
was  more  than  a  Maine  backwoodsman  enjoyed  as 
initiation    in    horsemanship.    Dow    was    mounted 


i62       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

on  an  excellent  trained  horse,  and  being  young 
and  supple  was  able  to  do  his  share  in  spite  of  his 
discomfort.  But  the  mare  that  had  been  allotted 
to  Sewall  happened  also  to  be  a  tenderfoot,  and 
they  did  not  play  a  conspicuous  role  in  the  progress 
of  the  cattle. 

Captain  Robins  was  not  the  sort  to  make  allow- 
ances when  there  was  work  to  be  done.  He  was  a 
small,  dark  man  with  a  half-inch  beard  almost 
completely  covering  his  face,  a  "  seafaring  man  " 
who  had  got  his  experience  with  cattle  in  South 
America;  "  a  man  of  many  orders"  as  Sewall  curtly 
described  him  in  a  letter  home.  He  rode  over  to 
where  Sewall  was  endeavoring  in  a  helpless  way  to 
make  the  mare  go  in  a  general  northerly  direction. 

Sewall  saw  him  coming,  and  wondered  why  he 
thought  it  necessary  to  come  at  such  extraordinary 
speed. 

The  Captain  drew  rein  sharply  at  Sewall's  side. 
"  Why  in  hell  don't  you  ride  in  and  do  something?  " 
he  roared. 

Sewall  knew  exactly  why  he  didn't.  He  had 
known  it  for  some  time,  and  he  was  nettled  with 
himself,  for  he  had  not  been  accustomed  "  to  take 
a  back  seat  for  any  one  "  when  feats  that  demanded 
physical  strength  and  skill  were  to  be  done.  Robins 
was  very  close  to  him,  and  Sewall's  first  impulse 
was  to  take  him  by  the  hair.  But  it  occurred  to 
him  that  the  seafaring  man  was  smaller  than  he, 
and  that  thought  went  out  of  his  head. 

"  I  know  I'm  not  doing  anything,"  he  said  at 


SEWALL  SPEAKS  HIS  MIND  163 

last  gruffly.  "  I  don't  know  anything  about  what 
I'm  trying  to  do  and  I  think  I've  got  a  horse  as 
green  as  I  am.  But  don't  you  ever  speak  to  me  in 
such  a  manner  as  that  again  as  long  as  you  live." 

There  was  a  good  deal  that  was  impressive  about 
Sewall,  his  shoulders,  his  teeth  that  were  like  tomb- 
stones, his  vigorous,  brown  beard,  his  eyes  that  had 
a  way  of  blazing.  The  Captain  did  not  pursue 
the  discussion. 

"  That  Sewall  is  a  kind  of  quick-tempered 
fellow,"  he  remarked  to  Dow. 

"  I  don't  think  he  is,"  said  the  younger  man 
quietly. 

"  He  snapped  me  up." 

"  You  must  have  said  something  to  him,  for  he 
ain't  in  the  habit  of  doing  such  things." 

The  Captain  dropped  the  subject  for  the  time 
being. 

Roosevelt,  after  two  days  at  Lang's,  returned 
to  the  Maltese  Cross  and  then  rode  northward  to 
look  after  the  men  from  Maine. 

Captain  Robins's  report  was  altogether  favorable. 
"  You've  got  two  good  men  here,  Mr.  Roosevelt," 
said  he.  "That  Sewall  don't  calculate  to  bear  any- 
thing. I  spoke  to  him  the  other  day,  and  he  snapped 
me  up  so  short  I  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it. 
But,"  he  added,  "  I  don't  blame  him.  I  did  not 
speak  to  him  as  I  ought." 

This  was  what  Bill  himself  would  have  called 
"  handvsome."  Roosevelt  carried  the  gruff  apology 
to  Sewall,  and  there  was  harmony  after  that  between 


i64       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

the  lumberjack  and  the  seafaring  man,  punching 
cattle  together  in  the  Bad  Lands. 

The  cattle  which  Captain  Robins  and  his  two 
tenderfeet  from  Maine  had  driven  down  the  river 
from  the  Maltese  Cross  were  intended  to  be  the 
nucleus  of  the  Elkhorn  herd.  They  were  young 
grade  short-horns  of  Eastern  origin,  less  wild  than 
the  long-horn  Texas  steers,  but  liable,  on  new 
ground,  to  stray  off  through  some  of  the  innumer- 
able coulees  stretching  back  from  the  river,  and  be 
lost  in  the  open  prairie.  The  seafaring  man  de- 
termined, therefore,  that  they  should  be  "  close- 
herded  "  every  night  and  "  bedded  down  "  on  the 
level  bottom  where  the  cabin  stood  which  was 
their  temporary  ranch-house.  So  each  dusk,  Roose- 
velt and  his  men  drove  the  cattle  down  from 
the  side  valleys,  and  each  night,  in  two-hour 
"  tricks  "  all  night  long,  one  or  the  other  of  them 
rode  slowly  and  quietly  round  and  round  the  herd, 
heading  off  all  that  tried  to  stray.  This  was  not 
altogether  a  simple  business,  for  there  was  danger 
of  stampede  in  making  the  slightest  unusual  noise. 
Now  and  then  they  would  call  to  the  cattle  softly 
as  they  rode,  or  sing  to  them  until  the  steers  had 
all  lain  down  close  together. 

It  was  while  Roosevelt  was  working  at  Elkhorn 
that  he  received  a  call  from  Howard  Eaton,  who  was 
his  neighbor  there  as  well  as  at  the  Maltese  Cross, 
since  his  ranch  at  the  mouth  of  Big  Beaver  Creek 
was  only  five  miles  down  the  Little  Missouri 
from  the  place  where,  Roosevelt  had  "  staked   his 


ENTER  THE  MARQUIS  165 

claim."  Eaton  brought  Chris  McGee,  his  partner, 
with  him.  Roosevelt  had  heard  of  McGee,  not 
altogether  favorably,  for  McGee  was  the  Republican 
"  boss  ■'  of  Pittsburgh  in  days  when  "  bosses  " 
were  in  flower. 

"  Are  you  going  to  stay  out  here  and  make 
ranching  a  business?  "  asked  Eaton. 

"  No,"  Roosevelt  answered.  "  For  the  present 
I  am  out  here  because  I  cannot  get  up  any  enthu- 
siasm for  the  Republican  candidate,  and  it  seems 
to  me  that  punching  cattle  is  the  best  way  to  aVoid 
campaigning." 

Eaton  asked  McGee  on  the  way  home  how 
Roosevelt  stood  in  the  East.  "  Roosevelt  is  a 
nice  fellow,"  remarked  McGee,  "  but  he's  a  damned 
fool  in  politics." 

Roosevelt  remained  with  Robins  and  the  men 
from  Maine  for  three  days,  varying  his  life  in  the 
saddle  with  a  day  on  foot  after  grouse  when  the 
larder  ran  low.  It  was  all  joyous  sport,  which  was 
lifted  for  a  moment  into  the  plane  of  adventure 
by  a  communication  from  the  Marquis  de  Mores. 

That  gentleman  wrote  Roosevelt  a  letter  inform- 
ing him  that  he  himself  claimed  the  range  on  which 
Roosevelt  had  established  himself. 

Roosevelt's  answer  was  brief  and  definite.  He 
had  found  nothing  but  dead  sheep  on  the  range, 
he  wrote,  and  he  did  not  think  that  they  would  hold 
it. 

There  the  matter  rested. 

"  You'd   better  be  on   the  lookout,"   Roosevelt 


i66       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

remarked  to  Sewall  and  Dow,  as  he  was  making 
ready  to  return  to  the  Maltese  Cross.  "  There's 
just  a  chance  there  may  be  trouble." 

"  I    cal'late   we    can    look    out   for   ourselves," 
announced  Bill  with  a  gleam  in  his  eye. 


IX 

Young  Dutch  Van  Zander,  drunkard  to  the  skin, 
Flung  wide  the  door  and  let  the  world  come  in  — 
The  world,  with  daybreak  on  a  thousand  buttes! 
"Say,  is  this  heaven.  Bill  —  or  is  it  gin?" 

Bad  Lands  Rubdiyat 

Roosevelt  returned  to  the  upper  ranch  on  August 
nth. 

Everything  so  far  has  gone  along  beautifully  [he 
wrote  to  his  sister  on  the  following  day].  I  had  great 
fun  in  bringing  my  two  backwoods  babies  out  here. 
Their  absolute  astonishment  and  delight  at  everything 
they  saw,  and  their  really  very  shrewd,  and  yet  wonder- 
fully simple  remarks  were  a  perpetual  delight  to  me. 

I  found  the  cattle  all  here  and  looking  well;  I  have 
now  got  some  sixteen  hundred  head  on  the  river.  I 
mounted  Sewall  and  Dow  on  a  couple  of  ponies  (where 
they  looked  like  the  pictures  of  discomfort,  Sewall 
remarking  that  his  only  previous  experience  in  the 
equestrian  line  was  when  he  "  rode  logs  "),  and  started 
them  at  once  off  down  the  river  with  a  hundred  head  of 
cattle,  under  the  lead  of  one  of  my  friends  out  here,  a 
grumpy  old  sea  captain,  who  has  had  a  rather  diversified 
life,  trying  his  hand  as  sailor,  buffalo  hunter,  butcher, 
apothecary  (mirabile  dictu),  and  cowboy.  Sewall  tried  to 
spur  his  horse  which'  began  kicking  and  rolled  over  with 
him  into  a  washout. 

Sewall,  meanwhile,  was  also  writing  letters  "  to 
the  folks  back  East,"  and  the  opinions  he  expressed 
about  the  Bad  Lands  were  plain  and  unvarnished. 

It  is  a  dirty  country  and  very  dirty  people  on  an  aver- 


l68       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

age  [he  wrote  his  brother  Samuel  In  Island  Falls],  but  I 
think  it  is  healthy.  The  soil  is  sand  or  clay,  all  dust  or  all 
mud.  The  river  is  the  meanest  apology  for  a  frog-pond 
that  I  ever  saw.  It  is  a  queer  country,  you  would  like  to 
see  it,  but  you  would  not  like  to  live  here  long.  The  hills 
are  mostly  of  clay,  the  sides  of  some  very  steep  and  bar- 
ren of  all  vegetation.  You  would  think  cattle  would 
starve  there,  but  all  the  cattle  that  have  wintered  here 
are  fat  now  and  they  say  here  that  cattle  brought  from 
any  other  part  will  improve  in  size  and  quality.  Theo- 
dore thinks  I  will  have  more  than  $3000.00  in  three 
years  if  nothing  happens.  He  is  going  to  put  on  a  lot  of 
cattle  next  year. 

This  is  a  good  place  for  a  man  with  plenty  of  money 
to  make  more,  but  if  I  had  enough  money  to  start  here 
I  never  would  come,  think  the  country  ought  to  have 
been  left  to  the  annimils  that  have  laid  their  bones  here. 

Roosevelt  had,  ever  since  the  Chicago  conven- 
tion, planned  to  go  on  an  extensive  hunting  trip, 
partly  to  take  his  mind  from  the  political  campaign, 
from  which,  in  his  judgment,  the  course  of  events 
had  eliminated  him,  and  partly  to  put  himself 
out  of  reach  of  importunate  politicians  in  various 
parts  of  the  country,  who  were  endeavoring  to  make 
him  commit  himself  in  favor  of  the  Republican 
candidate  in  a  way  that  would  make  his  pre- 
convention  utterances  appear  insincere  and  absurd. 
The  tug  of  politics  was  strong.  He  loved  "  the 
game  "  and  he  hated  to  be  out  of  a  good  fight. 
To  safeguard  himself,  therefore,  he  determined  to 
hide  himself  in  the  recesses  of  the  Big  Horn  Moun- 
tains in  Wyoming. 

In  a  day  or  two  I  start  out  [he  wrote  on  August  12  th 


DUTCH  WANNIGAN  169 

to  his  friend  Henry  Cabot  Lodge,  who  had  suffered 
defeat  at  his  side  at  the  convention]  with  two  hunt- 
ers, six  riding-ponies,  and  a  canvas- topped  "  prairie 
schooner  "  for  the  Bighorn  Mountains.  You  would  be 
amused  to  see  me,  in  my  broad  sombrero  hat,  fringed 
and  beaded  buckskin  shirt,  horsehide  chaparajcs  or 
riding-trousers,  and  cowhide  boots,  with  braided  bridle 
and  silver  spurs.  I  have  always  liked  horse  and  rifle, 
and  being,  like  yourself,  "  ein  echter  Amerikaner," 
prefer  that  description  of  sport  which  needs  a  buckskin 
shirt  to  that  whose  votaries  adopt  the  red  coat.  A 
buffalo  is  nobler  game  than  an  anise-seed  bag,  the  Anglo- 
maniacs  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 

He  did  not  start  on  the  day  he  had  planned,  for 
the  reason  that  the  six  riding-ponies  which  he  needed 
W'Cre  not  to  be  had  for  love  or  money  in  the  whole 
length  and  breadth  of  the  Bad  Lands.  He  sent 
Sylvane  w^ith  another  man  south  to  Spearfish  in 
the  Black  Hills  to  buy  a  "  string  "  of  horses.  The 
other  man  was  Jack  Renter,  otherwise  known  as 
"  Dutch  Wannigan."  For  "  Wannigan,"  like  his 
fellow  "  desperado,"  Frank  O'Donald,  had  returned 
long  since  to  the  valley  of  the  Little  Missouri  and 
taken  up  again  the  activities  which  the  Marquis 
had  rudely  interrupted.  But,  being  a  simple- 
hearted  creature,  he  had  sold  no  crop  of  hay  to 
the  Marquis  "  in  stubble  "  for  a  thousand  dollars, 
like  his  craftier  associate.  He  had  merely  "  gone 
to  w^ork."  The  fact  that  it  happened  to  be  Roose- 
velt for  whom  he  went  to  work  had  something  to 
do,  no  doubt,  with  the  subsequent  relations  between 
Roosevelt  and  the  Marquis. 


I70       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Various  forces  for  which  the  Marquis  himself 
could  claim  no  responsibility  had,  meanwhile,  been 
conspiring  with  him  to  "  boom  "  his  new  town. 
The  glowing  and  distinctly  exaggerated  accounts 
of  farming  conditions  in  the  Northwest,  sent 
broadcast  by  the  railroad  companies,  had  started 
a  wave  of  immigration  westward  which  the  laments 
of  the  disappointed  seemed  to  have  no  power  to 
check.  "  City-boomers,"  with  their  tales  of  amaz- 
ing fortunes  made  overnight,  lured  men  to  a  score 
of  different  "  towns  "  along  the  Northern  Pacific 
that  were  nothing  but  two  ruts  and  a  section- 
house.  From  the  south  rolled  a  tide  of  another 
sort.  The  grazing-lands  of  Texas  were  becoming 
overstocked,  and  up  the  broad  cattle- trail  came 
swearing  cowboys  in  broad  sombreros,  driving 
herds  of  long-horned  cattle  into  the  new  grazing- 
country.  Altogether,  it  was  an  active  season  for 
the  saloon-keepers  of  Medora. 

The  Marquis  was  having  endless  trouble  with 
the  plans  for  his  stage-line  and  was  keeping  Packard 
on  tenterhooks.  Packard  twiddled  his  thumbs,  and 
the  Marquis,  plagued  by  the  citizens  of  the  Black 
Hills  whom  he  had  promised  the  stage-  and  freight- 
line  months  previous,  made  threats  one  day  and 
rosy  promises  the  next.  It  was  the  middle  of 
August  before  Packard  received  directions  to  go 
ahead. 

Roosevelt  did  not  see  much  of  the  genial  editor 
of  the  Cowboy  during  those  August  days  while  he 
was  waiting  for  Sylvane  and  "  Dutch  Wannigan  "  to 


POLITICAL  SIRENS  171 

return  from  Spearfish  with  the  ponies,  for  Packard, 
knowing  that  every  hour  was  precious,  was  rushing 
frantically  to  and  fro,  buying  lumber  and  feed,  peg- 
ging out  the  sites  of  his  stage-stations,  his  eating- 
houses,  his  barns  and  his  corrals,  and  superintending 
the  constructing  crews  at  the  dozen  or  more  stops 
along  the  route. 

Roosevelt,  meanwhile,  was  obviously  restless 
and  seemed  to  find  peace  of  mind  only  in  almost 
continuous  action.  After  two  or  three  days  at  the 
Maltese  Cross,  he  was  back  at  Elkhorn  again, 
forty  miles  away,  and  the  next  day  he  was  once 
more  on  his  travels,  riding  south.  Sewall  went 
with  him,  for  he  wanted  the  backwoodsman  to 
accompany  him  on  the  trip  to  the  Big  Horn  Moun- 
tains. Dow  remained  with  the  seafaring  man,  look- 
ing crestfallen  and  unhappy. 

During  the  days  that  he  was  waiting  for  Sylvane 
to  return,  Roosevelt  touched  Medora  and  its 
feverish  life  no  more  than  absolute  necessity 
demanded,  greeting  his  acquaintances  in  friendly 
fashion,  but  tending  strictly  to  business.  It  seems, 
however,  that  he  had  already  made  a  deep  im- 
pression on  his  neighbors  up  and  down  the  river. 
The  territory  was  shortly  to  be  admitted  to  state- 
hood and  there  were  voices  demanding  that  Theo- 
dore Roosevelt  be  Dakota's  first  representative 
in  Congress. 

In  commenting  upon  the  rumor  that  Theodore 
Roosevelt  had  come  to  Dakota  for  the  purpose  of  going 
to  Congress  [said  the  Bismarck  Weekly  Tribune  in  an 


172       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

editorial  on  August  8th],  the  Mandan  Pioneer  takes 
occasion  to  remark  that  young  Roosevelt's  record  as  a 
public  man  is  above  reproach  and  that  he  is  "a  vigorous 
young  Republican  of  the  new  school."  Such  favorable 
comment  from  a  Aiandan  paper  tends  to  substantiate 
the  rumor  that  the  young  political  Hercules  has  already 
got  the  West  Missouri  section  solid. 

"  If  he  concludes  to  run,"  remarked  the  Pioneer, 
"  he  will  give  our  politicians  a  complete  turning 
over." 

What  sirens  were  singing  to  Roosevelt  of  political 
honors  in  the  new  Western  country,  and  to  what 
extent  he  listened  to  them,  are  questions  to  which 
neither  his  correspondence  nor  the  newspapers 
of  the  time  provide  an  answer.  It  is  not  unreason- 
able to  believe  that  the  possibility  of  becoming  a 
political  power  in  the  Northwest  allured  him. 
His  political  position  in  the  East  was,  at  the 
moment,  hopeless.  Before  the  convention,  he  had 
antagonized  the  "  regular "  Republicans  by  his 
leadership  of  the  Independents  in  New  York,  which 
had  resulted  in  the  complete  defeat  of  the  "  organi- 
zation "  in  the  struggle  over  the  "  Big  Four  "  at 
Utica;  after  the  convention,  he  had  antagonized 
the  Independents  by  refusing  to  "  bolt  the  ticket." 
He  consequently  had  no  political  standing,  either 
within  the  party,  or  without.  The  Independents 
wept  tears  over  him,  denouncing  him  as  a  traitor; 
and  the  "  regulars,"  even  while  they  were  calling 
for  his  assistance  in  the  campaign,  were  whetting 
their  knives  to  dirk  him  in  the  back. 


ABLE  TO  FACE  ANYTHINCx  173 

If  the  temptation  ever  came  to  him  to  cut  what 
remained  of  his  political  ties  in  the  East  and  start 
afresh  in  Dakota,  no  evidence  of  it  has  yet  ap- 
peared. A  convention  of  the  Republicans  of  Billings 
County  was  held  in  the  hall  over  Bill  Williams's 
new  saloon  in  Medora  on  August  i6th.  Roosevelt 
did  not  attend  it.  Sylvane  and  "  Wannigan  "  had 
returned  from  Spearfish  and  Roosevelt  was  trying 
out  one  of  the  new  ponies  at  a  round-up  in  the  Big 
Ox  Bow  thirty  miles  to  the  south. 

We  have  been  delayed  nearly  a  week  by  being  forced 
to  get  some  extra  ponies  [he  wrote  his  sister  Anna  on 
the  17th].  However,  I  was  rather  glad  of  it,  as  I  wished 
to  look  thoroughly  through  the  cattle  before  going. 
To-morrow  morning  early  we  start  out.  Merrifield  and 
I  go  on  horseback,  each  taking  a  spare  pony;  which 
will  be  led  behind  the  wagon,  a  light  "  prairie  schooner  " 
drawn  by  two  stout  horses,  and  driven  by  an  old  French 
Canadian.  I  wear  a  sombrero,  silk  neckerchief,  fringed 
buckskin  shirt,  sealskin  chaparajos  or  riding-trousers; 
alligator-hide  boots;  and  with  my  pearl-hilted  revolver 
and  beautifully  finished  Winchester  rifle,  I  shall  feel 
able  to  face  anything. 

There  is  no  question  that  Roosevelt's  costume 
fascinated  him.  It  was,  in  fact,  gorgeous  beyond 
description. 

How  long  I  will  be  gone  I  cannot  say;  we  will  go  in 
all  nearly  a  thousand  miles.  If  game  is  plenty  and  my 
success  is  good,  I  may  return  in  six  weeks;  more  probably 
I  shall  be  out  a  couple  of  months,  and  if  game  is  so 
scarce  that  w^e  have  to  travel  very  far  to  get  it,  or  if 
our  horses  give  out  or  run  away,  or  we  get  caught  by 


174       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

the  snow,  we  may  be  out  very  much  longer  —  till 
toward  Christmas;  though  I  will  try  to  be  back  to  vote. 

Yesterday  I  rode  seventy-two  miles  between  dawn 
and  darkness ;  I  have  a  superb  roan  pony,  or  rather  horse ; 
he  looks  well  with  his  beautifully  carved  saddle,  plaited 
bridle,  and  silver  inlaid  bit,  and  seems  to  be  absolutely 
tireless. 

I  grow  very  fond  of  this  place,  and  it  certainly  has  a 
desolate,  grim  beauty  of  its  own,  that  has  a  curious 
fascination  for  me.  The  grassy,  scantily  wooded  bottoms 
through  which  the  winding  river  flows  are  bounded  by 
bare,  jagged  buttes;  their  fantastic  shapes  and  sharp, 
steep  edges  throw  the  most  curious  shadows,  under  the 
cloudless,  glaring  sky;  and  at  evening  I  love  to  sit  out 
in  front  of  the  hut  and  see  their  hard,  gray  outlines 
gradually  grow  soft  and  purple  as  the  flaming  sunset 
by  degrees  softens  and  dies  away;  while  my  days  I 
spend  generally  alone,  riding  through  the  lonely  rolling 
prairie  and  broken  lands. 

If,  on  those  solitary  rides,  Roosevelt  gave  much 
thought  to  politics,  it  was  doubtless  not  on  any 
immediate  benefit  for  himself  on  which  his  mind 
dwelt.  Sewall  said,  long  afterward,  that  "  Roose- 
velt was  always  thinkin'  of  makin'  the  world  bet- 
ter, instead  of  worse,"  and  Merrifield  remembered 
that  even  in  those  early  days  the  "  Eastern  tender- 
foot "  was  dreaming  of  the  Presidency.  It  was  a 
wholesome  region  to  dream  in.  Narrow  notions 
could  not  live  in  the  gusty  air  of  the  prairies,  and 
the  Bad  Lands  were  not  conducive  to  sentimen- 
talism. 


X 

The  pine  spoke,  but  the  word  he  said  was  "Silence"; 

The  aspen  sang,  but  silence  was  her  theme. 
The  wind  was  silence,  restless;  and  the  voices 
Of  the  bright  forest-creatures  were  as  silence 

Made  vocal  in  the  topsy-tur\'y  of  dream. 

Paradise  Found 

Roosevelt  started  for  the  Big  Horn  Mountains 
on  August  1 8th,  but  Sewall,  after  all,  did  not  go 
with  him.  Almost  with  tears,  he  begged  off.  "  I'd 
always  dreamed  of  hunting  through  that  Big  Horn 
country,"  he  said  long  afterw^ard.  "  I  had  picked 
that  out  as  a  happy  hunting  ground  for  years  and 
years,  and  I  never  wanted  to  go  anywhere  so  much 
as  I  wanted  to  go  along  with  Theodore  on  that 
trip."  But  the  memory  of  the  lonely  look  in  Will 
Dow's  face  overcame  the  soft-hearted  backwoods- 
man at  the  last  minute.  He  pointed  out  to  Roose- 
velt that  one  man  could  not  well  handle  the  logs 
for  the  new  ranch-house  and  suggested  that  he  be 
allowed  to  rejoin  Will  Dow. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  i8th,  Roosevelt 
set  his  caravan  in  motion  for  the  long  journey. 
For  a  hunting  companion  he  had  Merrifield  and  for 
teamster  and  cook  he  had  a  French  Canadian  named 
Norman  Lebo,  who,  as  Roosevelt  subsequently 
remarked,  to  Lebo's  indignation  (for  he  prided 
himself  on  his  scholarship),  "  possessed  a  most 
extraordinary  stock  of  miscellaneous  mis-informa- 
tion upon  every  conceivable  subject."   He  was  a 


176       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

short,  stocky,  bearded  man,  a  born  wanderer,  who 
had  left  his  family  once  for  a  week's  hunting  trip 
and  remained  away  three  years,  returning  at  last 
only  to  depart  again,  after  a  week,  for  further 
Odyssean  wanderings.  "If  I  had  the  money," 
he  had  a  way  of  saying,  "  no  two  nights  would 
ever  see  me  in  the  same  bed."  It  was  rumored 
that  before  Mrs.  Lebo  had  permitted  her  errant 
spouse  to  go  out  of  her  sight,  she  had  secured  pledges 
from  Roosevelt  guaranteeing  her  three  years'  sub- 
sistence, in  case  the  wanderlust  should  once  more 
seize  upon  her  protector  and  provider. 

Roosevelt  rode  ahead  of  the  caravan,  spending 
the  first  night  with  the  Langs,  who  were  always 
friendly  and  hospitable  and  full  of  good  talk,  and 
rejoining  Merrifield  and  ''  the  outfit  "  on  the  Keogh 
trail  a  few  miles  westward  next  morning.  Slowly 
and  laboriously  the  "  prairie  schooner  "  lumbered 
along  the  uneven  route.  The  weather  was  sultry, 
and  as  chey  crossed  the  high  divide  which  separated 
the  Little  Missouri  basin  from  the  valley  of  the 
Little  Beaver  they  saw  ahead  of  them  the  towering 
portents  of  storm.  The  northwest  was  already 
black,  and  in  a  space  of  time  that  seemed  incredibly 
brief  the  masses  of  cloud  boiled  up  and  over  the 
sky.  The  storm  rolled  toward  them  at  furious 
speed,  extending  its  wings,  as  it  came,  as  though 
to  gather  in  its  victims. 

Against  the  dark  background  of  the  mass  [Roosevelt 
wrote,  describing  it  later]  could  be  seen  pillars  and  clouds 
of  gray  mist,  whirled  hither  and  thither  by  the  wind, 


"O    O    c    «) 


n  oj  u 


THE  START  FOR  THE  BIG  HORNS       177 

and  sheets  of  level  rain  driven  before  it.  The  edges  of 
the  wings  tossed  to  and  fro,  and  the  wind  shrieked  and 
moaned  as  it  swept  over  the  prairie.  It  was  a  storm  of 
unusual  intensity;  the  prairie  fowl  rose  in  flocks  from 
before  it,  scudding  with  spread  wings  toward  the  thickest 
cover,  and  the  herds  of  antelope  ran  across  the  plain 
like  race-horses  to  gather  in  the  hollows  and  behind 
the  low  ridges. 

We  spurred  hard  to  get  out  of  the  open,  riding  with 
loose  reins  for  the  creek.  The  center  of  the  storm  swept 
by  behind  us,  fairly  across  our  track,  and  we  only  got  a 
wipe  from  the  tail  of  it.  Yet  this  itself  we  could  not 
have  faced  in  the  open.  The  first  gust  caught  us  a  few 
hundred  yards  from  the  creek,  almost  taking  us  from 
the  saddle,  and  driving  the  rain  and  hail  in  stinging 
level  sheets  against  us.  We  galloped  to  the  edge  of  a 
deep  wash-out,  scrambled  into  it  at  the  risk  of  our 
necks,  and  huddled  up  with  our  horses  underneath  the 
windward  bank.  Here  we  remained  pretty  well  sheltered 
until  the  storm  was  over.  Although  it  was  August,  the 
air  became  very  cold.  The  wagon  was  fairly  caught,  and 
would  have  been  blown  over  if  the  top  had  been  on; 
the  driver  and  horses  escaped  without  injury,  pressing 
under  the  leeward  side,  the  storm  coming  so  level  that 
they  did  not  need  a  roof  to  protect  them  from  the  hail. 
Where  the  center  of  the  whirlwind  struck,  it  did  great 
damage,  sheets  of  hailstones  as  large  as  pigeons'  eggs 
striking  the  earth  with  the  velocity  of  bullets;  next  day 
the  hailstones  could  have  been  gathered  up  by  the  bushel 
from  the  heaps  that  lay  in  the  bottom  of  the  gullies 
and  ravines. 

They  made  camp  that  night  at  the  edge  of  the 
creek  whose  banks  had  given  them  what  little 
shelter  there  was  on  the  plateau  where  the  storm 
had  struck  them.    All  night  the  rain  continued  in 


178       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

a  drizzle  punctuated  at  intervals  by  sharp  showers. 
Next  morning  the  weather  was  no  better,  and 
after  a  morning's  struggle  with  the  wagon  along 
the  slippery  trail  of  gumbo  mud,  they  made  what 
would  under  other  circumstances  have  been  a 
"  dry  camp."  They  caught  the  rain  in  their  slickers 
and  made  their  coffee  of  it,  and  spent  another  more 
or  less  uncomfortable  night  coiling  themselves  over 
and  around  a  cracker- barrel  which  seemed  to  take 
up  the  whole  interior  of  the  wagon. 

The  weather  cleared  at  last,  and  they  pushed  on 
southwestward,  between  Box  Elder  Creek  and 
Powder  River.  It  was  dreary  country  through 
which  Lebo  and  his  prairie  schooner  made  their 
slow  and  creaking  way,  and  Roosevelt  and  Merri- 
field,  to  whom  the  pace  was  torture,  varied  the  mo- 
notony with  hunting  expeditions  on  one-side  or  the 
other  of  the  parallel  ruts  that  were  the  Keogh  trail. 
It  was  on  one  of  these  trips  that  Roosevelt  learned 
a  lesson  which  he  remembered. 

They  had  seen  a  flock  of  prairie  chickens  and 
Roosevelt  had  started  off  with  his  shot-gun  to  bring 
in  a  meal  of  them.  Suddenly  Merrifield  called  to 
him.    Roosevelt  took  no  heed. 

"  Don't  you  shoot!  "  cried  Merrifield. 

Roosevelt,  with  his  eyes  on  the  chickens,  pro- 
ceeded on  his  way  undeterred.  Suddenly,  a  little 
beyond  where  he  had  seen  the  prairie  fowl  go  to 
covert,  a  mountain  lion  sprang  out  of  the  brush  and 
bounded  away.  Roosevelt  ran  for  his  rifle,  but  he 
was  too  late.  The  lion  was  gone. 


ROOSEVELT  WRITES  HOME  179 

Merrlfield's  eyes  were  blazing  and  his  remarks 
were  not  dissimilar.  "  Now,  whenever  I  hold  up 
my  hand,"  he  concluded,  "  you  stop  still  where  you 
are.    Understand?  " 

Roosevelt,  who  would  have  knocked  his  ranch- 
partner  down  with  earnestness  and  conviction  if  he 
had  thought  Merrifield  was  in  the  wrong,  meekly 
bore  the  hunter's  wrath,  knowing  that  Merrifield 
was  in  the  right;  and  thereafter  on  the  expedition 
obeyed  orders  with  a  completeness  that  occasionally 
had  its  comic  aspects.  But  Merrifield  had  no  more 
complaints  to  make. 

They  plodded  on,  day  after  day,  seeing  no  human 
being.  When  at  last  they  did  come  upon  a  lonely 
rider,  Roosevelt  instantly  pressed  him  into  service  as 
a  mail  carrier,  and  wrote  two  letters. 

The  first  was  to  his  sister  Anna. 

I  am  writing  this  on  an  upturned  water-keg,  by  our 
canvas-covered  wagon,  while  the  men  are  making  tea, 
and  the  solemn  old  ponies  are  grazing  round  about  me. 
I  am  going  to  trust  it  to  the  tender  mercies  of  a  stray 
cowboy  whom  we  have  just  met,  and  who  may  or  may 
not  post  it  when  he  gets  to  "  Powderville,"  a  delectable 
log  hamlet  some  seventy  miles  north  of  us. 

We  left  the  Little  Missouri  a  week  ago,  and  have 
been  traveling  steadily  some  twenty  or  thirty  miles  a 
day  ever  since,  through  a  desolate,  barren-looking  and 
yet  picturesque  country,  part  of  the  time  rolling  prairie 
and  part  of  the  time  broken,  jagged  Bad  Lands.  We 
have  fared  sumptuously,  as  I  have  shot  a  number  of 
prairie  chickens,  sage  hens  and  ducks,  and  a  couple  of 
fine  bucks  —  besides  missing  several  of  the  latter  that 
I  ought  to  have  killed. 


i8o       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Every  morning  we  get  up  at  dawn,  and  start  off  by 
six  o'clock  or  thereabouts,  Merrifield  and  I  riding  off 
among  the  hills  or  ravines  after  game,  while  the  battered 
"  prairie  schooner,"  with  the  two  spare  ponies  led  behind, 
is  driven  slowly  along  by  old  Lebo,  who  is  a  perfect 
character.  He  is  a  weazened,  wiry  old  fellow,  very 
garrulous,  brought  up  on  the  frontier,  and  a  man  who 
is  never  put  out  or  disconcerted  by  any  possible  combi- 
nation of  accidents.  Of  course  we  have  had  the  usual 
incidents  of  prairie  travel  happen  to  us.  One  day  we 
rode  through  a  driving  rainstorm,  at  one  time  developing 
into  a  regular  hurricane  of  hail  and  wind,  which  nearly 
upset  the  wagon,  drove  the  ponies  almost  frantic,  and 
forced  us  to  huddle  into  a  gully  for  protection.  The  rain 
lasted  all  night  and  we  all  slept  in  the  wagon,  pretty 
wet  and  not  very  comfortable.  Another  time  a  sharp 
gale  of  wind  or  rain  struck  us  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
as  we  were  lying  out  in  the  open  (we  have  no  tent), 
and  we  shivered  under  our  wet  blankets  till  morning. 
We  go  into  camp  a  little  before  sunset,  tethering  two  or 
three  of  the  horses,  and  letting  the  others  range.  One 
night  we  camped  in  a  most  beautiful  natural  park;  it 
was  a  large,  grassy  hill,  studded  thickly  with  small, 
pine-crowned  chalk  buttes,  with  very  steep  sides,  worn 
into  the  most  outlandish  and  fantastic  shapes.  All 
that  night  the  wolves  kept  up  a  weird  concert  around 
Qur  camp  —  they  are  most  harmless  beasts. 

The  second  letter  was  to  his  friend  Lodge,  who 
was  in  the  midst  of  a  stiff  fight  to  hold  his  seat  in 
Congress. 

You  must  pardon  the  paper  and  general  appearance 
of  this  letter,  as  I  am  writing  out  in  camp,  a  hundred 
miles  or  so  from  any  house;  and  indeed,  whether  this 
letter  is,  or  is  not,  ever  delivered  depends  partly  on 


A  LETTER  TO  LODGE  i8i 

Providence,  and  partly  on  the  good-will  of  an  equally 
inscrutable  personage,  either  a  cowboy  or  a  horse-thief, 
whom  we  have  just  met,  and  who  has  volunteered  to 
post  it  —  my  men  are  watching  him  with  anything  but 
friendly  eyes,  as  they  think  he  is  going  to  try  to  steal 
our  ponies.  (To  guard  against  this  possibility  he  is  to 
sleep  between  my  foreman  and  myself  —  delectable 
bedfellow  he'll  prove,  doubtless.) 

I  have  no  particular  excuse  for  writing,  beyond  the 
fact  that  I  would  give  a  good  deal  to  have  a  talk  with 
you  over  political  matters,  just  now.  I  heartily  enjoy 
this  life,  with  its  perfect  freedom,  for  I  am  very  fond  of 
hunting,  and  there  are  few  sensations  I  prefer  to  that 
of  galloping  over  these  rolling,  limitless  prairies,  rifle  in 
hand,  or  winding  my  way  among  the  barren,  fantastic 
and  grimly  picturesque  deserts  of  the  so-called  Bad 
Lands ;  and  yet  I  cannot  help  wishing  I  could  be  battling 
along  with  you,  and  I  cannot  regret  enough  the  un- 
fortunate turn  in  political  affairs  that  has  practically 
debarred  me  from  taking  any  part  in  the  fray.  I  have 
received  fifty  different  requests  to  speak  in  various 
places  —  among  others,  to  open  the  campaign  in  Ver- 
mont and  Minnesota.  I  am  glad  I  am  not  at  home;  I 
get  so  angry  with  the  "  mugwumps,"  and  get  to  have 
such  scorn  and  contempt  for  them,  that  I  know  I  would 
soon  be  betrayed  into  taking  some  step  against  them, 
much  more  decided  than  I  really  ought  to  take. 

The  hunting  trips  which  Roosevelt  and  Merri- 
field  made  on  this  side  or  the  other  of  the  trail 
had  their  charm,  and  their  perils  also.  There  was 
one  excursion,  while  the  wagon  was  crawling  up  the 
Clear  Fork  of  the  Powder  River,  which  for  several 
reasons  remained  memorable. 

The  party  was  out  of  food,  for  the  country  they 


i82       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

had  been  traversing  was  not  favorable  for  game,  and 
Roosevelt  and  Merrifield  started  forth  one  after- 
noon, with  hope  goaded  by  necessity,  to  replenish 
the  larder. 

Where  the  hilly  country  joined  the  river  bottom, 
it  broke  off  into  steep  bluffs,  presenting  an  ascent 
before  which  even  a  bronco,  it  seemed,  had  his 
hesitations.  Roosevelt  and  his  companion  rode  into 
a  washout,  and  then,  dismounting,  led  their  ponies 
along  a  clay  ledge  from  which  they  turned  off  and 
went  straight  up  an  almost  perpendicular  sandy 
bluff.  As  Merrifield,  who  was  in  the  lekd,  turned 
off  the  ledge,  his  horse,  plunging  in  his  attempt  to 
clamber  up  the  steep  bluff,  overbalanced  himself, 
and  for  a  second  stood  erect  on  his  hind  legs  trying 
to  recover  his  equilibrium.  As  Roosevelt,  who  was 
directly  beneath  him,  made  a  frantic  leap  with 
his  horse  to  one  side,  Merrifield's  pony  rolled  over 
backwards,  turned  two  complete  somersaults  and 
landed  with  a  crash  at  the  bottom  of  the  washout, 
feet  uppermost.  They  did  not  dare  to  hope  that 
the  horse  would  not  be  "  done  for,"  but  he  proved 
on  investigation  to  be  very  much  alive.  Without 
aid  he  struggled  to  his  feet,  looking  about  in  a 
rather  shame-faced  fashion,  apparently  none  the 
worse  for  his  fall.  With  vigorous  pulling,  they 
drew  Roosevelt's  pony  to  the  top,  and  by  the  same 
method,  augmented  with  coaxing  and  abuse,  they 
brought  his  fellow  to  his  side  at  last,  and  proceeded 
on  their  excursion. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  they  came  on  three  black- 


INDIANS  183 

tail  deer.  Roosevelt  took  a  running  shot  at  two 
hundred  yards  and  missed,  took  another  and  missed 
again,  though  this  time  he  managed  to  turn  the 
animals  in  their  flight.  They  disappeared  round 
the  shoulder  of  a  bluff,  and  Roosevelt,  suspecting 
that  they  would  reappear  when  they  had  recovered 
from  their  terror,  elevated  his  sights  to  four  hundred 
yards  and  waited.  It  was  not  long  before  one  of 
the  three  stepped  out.  Roosevelt  raised  his  rifle. 
The  shot,  at  that  distance,  was  almost  impossible, 
but  there  was  zest  in  the  trying.  Suddenly  another 
buck  stepped  out  and  walked  slowly  toward  the 
first.  Roosevelt  waited  until  the  heads  were  in 
line  and  fired.  Over  went  both  bucks.  Roosevelt 
paced  off  the  distance.  It  was  just  four  hundred 
and  thirty-one  long  paces. 

It  was  while  they  were  ascending  the  Clear  Fork 
of  the  Powder  that  they  discovered  a  band  of 
Indians  camped  a  short  distance  from  the  place 
where  they  themselves  had  halted  for  the  night. 

"I'm  going  over  to  see  those  Indians,"  remarked 
Merrifield  after  dinner  that  evening. 

"What  do  you  want  to  go  over  there  for?" 
asked  Roosevelt. 

"Out  in  this  country,"  responded  the  hunter 
dryly,  "you  always  want  to  know  who  your  neigh- 
bors are." 

They  rode  over  together.  The  Indians  were 
Cheyennes.  Experience  had  taught  Merrifield  that 
nothing  was  so  conducive  to  peaceful  relations  with 
a  red  neighbor  as  to  prove  to  him  that  you  could 


>  i84       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

beat  him  at  his  own  game.  He  consequently  sug- 
gested a  shooting-match.  The  Indians  agreed.  To 
Roosevelt's  astonishment  they  proved  to  be  very 
bad  shots,  and  not  only  Merrifield,  but  Roosevelt 
himself,  completely  outclassed  them  in  the  com- 
petition. The  Indians  were  noticeably  impressed. 
Merrifield  and  Roosevelt  rode  back  to  their  camp 
conscious  that  so  far  as  those  particular  Indians 
were  concerned  no  anxiety  need  disturb  their 
slumbers. 

"Indians,"  remarked  Merrifield  later,  *'are  the 
best  judges  of  human  nature  in  the  world.  When 
an  Indian  finds  out  that  you  are  a  good  shot,  he 
will  leave  you  absolutely  alone  to  go  and  come  as 
you  like.  Indians  are  just  like  white  men.  They 
are  not  going  to  start  something  when  they  know 
you  can  out-shoot  them." 

For  three  weeks  they  traveled  through  desolation 
before  they  came  at  last  to  the  goal  of  their  journey. 
At  the  foot  of  the  first  steep  rise,  on  the  banks  of 
Crazy  Woman  Creek,  a  few  miles  south  of  the  army 
post  at  Buffalo,  they  left  the  wagon,  and  following 
an  old  Indian  trail  started  into  the  mountains, 
driving  their  pack-ponies  before  them. 

It  was  pleasant,  after  three  burning  weeks  of 
treeless  prairie,  to  climb  into  the  shadowy  greenness 
of  the  mountains.  All  about  them  was  the  music  of 
running  water,  where  clear  brooks  made  their 
way  through  deep  gorges  and  under  interlacing 
boughs.  Groves  of  great  pines  rose  from  grassy 
meadows  and  fringed  the  glades  that  lay  here  and 


CAMP  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS  185 

there  like  quiet  parks  in  the  midst  of  the  wilderness. 

The  hunters  pitched  their  camp  at  last  in  a  green 
valley  beside  a  boisterous  mountain  brook.  The 
weather  was  clear,  with  thin  ice  coursing  the  dark 
waters  of  the  mountain  tarns,  and  now  and  again 
slight  snowfalls  that  made  the  forest  gleam  and 
glisten  in  the  moonlight  like  fairyland.  Through 
the  frosty  air  they  could  hear  the  vibrant,  musical 
notes  of  the  bull  elk  far  off,  calling  to  the  cows  or 
challenging  one  another. 

No  country  could  have  been  better  adapted  to 
still  hunting  than  the  great,  pine-clad  mountains, 
studded  with  open  glades.  Roosevelt  loved  the 
thrill  of  the  chase,  but  he  loved  no  less  the  com- 
panionship of  the  majestic  trees  and  the  shy  wild 
creatures  which  sprang  across  his  path  or  ran  with 
incredible  swiftness  along  the  overhanging  boughs. 
Moving  on  noiseless  moccasins  he  caught  alluring 
glimpses  of  the  inner  life  of  the  mountains. 

The  days  passed  very  pleasantly  in  the  crystal 
air  and  vibrant  solitude  of  their  mountain  hunting 
grounds.  The  fare  that  old  Lebo  provided  was 
excellent,  and  to  the  three  men,  who  had  for  weeks 
been  accustomed  to  make  small  fires  from  dried 
brush  or  from  sagebrush  roots  laboriously  dug  out 
of  the  ground,  it  was  a  treat  to  sit  at  night  before 
the  roaring  pine-logs. 

"  We've  come  to  a  land  at  last,"  remarked  the 
quaint  old  teamster  with  satisfaction,  **  where  the 
wood  grows  on  trees." 

They  shot  several  elk  promptly,  but  the  grizzlies 


I86       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

they  were  after  eluded  them.  At  last,  after  a  week, 
Merrifield,  riding  into  camp  one  dusk,  with  a  shout 
announced  that  he  had  come  upon  grizzly-bear 
signs  some  ten  miles  away.  They  shifted  camp 
at  once. 

That  afternoon,  on  a  crag  overlooking  a  wild 
ravine,  Roosevelt  shot  another  great  bull  elk.  To 
Merrifield  it  seemed  as  though  the  elk  might  con- 
stitute a  day's  satisfactory  achievement.  But 
Roosevelt  was  indefatigable.  "  Now,"  he  said  with 
gusto,  contemplating  the  magnificent  antlers,  "  we'll 
go  out  to-night  and  get  a  bear." 

But  that  night  they  found  nothing.  Returning 
next  day  with  Merrifield  for  the  carcass  of  the  elk, 
however,  they  found  that  a  grizzly  had  been  feeding 
on  it.  They  crouched  in  hiding  for  the  bear's 
return.  Night  fell,  owls  began  to  hoot  dismally 
from  the  tops  of  the  tall  trees,  and  a  lynx  wailed 
from  the  depths  of  the  woods,  but  the  bear  did  not 
come. 

Early  next  morning  they  were  again  at  the  elk 
carcass.  The  bear  ha;d  evidently  eaten  his  fill 
during  the  night.  His  tracks  were  clear,  and  they 
followed  them  noiselessly  over  the  yielding  carpet  of 
moss  and  pine-needles,  to  an  elk-trail  leading  into 
a  tangled  thicket  of  young  spruces. 

Suddenly  Merrifield  sank  on  one  knee,  turning 
half  round,  his  face  aflame  with  excitement. 
Roosevelt  strode  silently  past  him,  his  gun  "  at 
the  ready." 

There,   not  ten  steps  off,  was  the  great  bear, 


ROOSEVELT  GETS  HIS  BEAR  187 

slowly  rising  from  his  bed  among  the  young  spruces. 
He  had  heard  the  hunters  and  reared  himself  on 
his  haunches.  Seeing  them,  he  dropped  again  on 
all-fours,  and  the  shaggy  hair  on  his  neck  and 
shoulders  bristled  as  he  turned  toward  them. 

Roosevelt  aimed  fairly  between  the  small,  glitter- 
ing eyes,  and  fired. 

Doubtless  my  face  was  pretty  white  [Roosevelt 
wrote  "  Bamie  "  a  week  later,]  but  the  blue  barrel  was 
as  steady  as  a  rock  as  I  glanced  along  it  until  I  could 
see  the  top  of  the  bead  fairly  between  his  tw^o  sinister- 
looking  eyes;  as  I  pulled  the  trigger  I  jumped  aside 
out  of  the  smoke,  to  be  ready  if  he  charged,  but  it  was 
needless,  for  the  great  brute  was  struggling  in  his  death 
agony,  and  as  you  will  see  when  I  bring  home  his  skin, 
the  bullet  hole  was  as  exactly  between  his  eyes  as  if  I 
had  measured  the  distance  with  a  carpenter's  rule. 

At  last,  one  cool  morning,  when  the  branches  of 
the  evergreens  were  laden  with  the  feathery  snow 
that  had  fallen  overnight,  the  hunters  struck  camp, 
and  in  single  file,  wuth  the  pack-ponies  laden  with 
the  trophies  of  the  hunt,  moved  down  through  the 
woods  and  across  the  canyons  to  the  edge  of  the 
great  table-land,  then  slowly  down  the  steep  slope 
to  its  foot,  where  they  found  the  canvas-topped 
wagon.  Next  day  they  set  out  on  the  three-hundred- 
mile  journey  home  to  the  Maltese  Cross. 

For  once  I  have  made  a  very  successful  hunting  trip 
[Roosevelt  wrote  "  Bamie "  from  Fort  McKinney.l  I 
have  just  come  out  of  the  mountains  and  will  start  at 
once  for  the  Little  Missouri,  which  I  expect  to  reach  in 


l88       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

a  fortnight,  and  a  week  afterwards  will  be  on  my  way 
home.  Merrifield  killed  two  bears  and  three  elk;  he  has 
been  an  invaluable  guide  for  game,  and  of  course  the 
real  credit  for  the  bag  rests  with  him,  for  he  found  most 
of  the  animals.  But  I  really  shot  well  this  time.  Merri- 
field, who  is  a  perfectly  fearless  and  reckless  man,  has 
no  more  regard  for  a  grizzly  bear  than  he  has  for  a  jack- 
rabbit;  the  last  one  he  killed,  he  wished  to  merely  break 
his  leg  with  the  first  shot  "so  as  to  see  what  he'd  do." 
I  had  not  at  all  this  feeling,  and  fully  realized  that  we 
were  hunting  dangerous  game ;  still  I  never  made  steadier 
shooting  than  at  the  grizzlies.  I  had  grand  sport  with 
the  elk,  too,  and  the  woods  fairly  rang  with  my  shout- 
ing when  I  brought  down  my  first  lordly  bull,  with  great 
branching  antlers;  but  after  I  had  begun  bear- killing, 
other  sport  seemed  tame. 

So  I  have  had  good  sport;  and  enough  excitement 
and  fatigue  to  prevent  overmuch  thought;  and,  more- 
over, I  have  at  last  been  able  to  sleep  well  at  night.  But 
unless  I  was  bear-hunting  all  the  time  I  am  afraid  I 
should  soon  get  as  restless  with  this  life  as  with  the  life 
at  home. 


XI 

The  rattlesnake  bites  you,  the  scorpion  stings, 

The  mosquito  delights  you  with  buzzing  wings; 

The  sand-burrs  prevail,  and  so  do  the  ants, 

And  those  who  sit  down  need  half-soles  on  their  pants. 

Cowboy  song 

The  day  that  Roosevelt  started  south  on  his  journey 
to  the  mountains,  Sewall  returned  north  down  the 
river  to  rejoin  his  nephew.  Will  Dow  was  watching 
the  cattle  on  the  plateau  a  few  miles  south  of 
Elkhorn  Bottom,  near  the  mouth  of  the  defile 
which  the  cowboys  called  Shipka  Pass. 

"  You  never  looked  so  good  to  me,"  he  said  to 
Sewall  that  night,  "  as  you  did  when  I  saw  your  head 
coming  up  the  Shipka  Pass." 

They  worked  together  among  the  cattle  for  an- 
other two  or  three  weeks.  They  were  on  the  best 
of  terms  with  Captain  Robins  by  this  time,  for  there 
was  much  to  like  and  much  to  respect  in  the  gruff, 
dark  little  seafaring  man,  who  had  suffered  ship- 
wreck in  more  ways  than  one,  and  was  out  on  the 
plains  because  of  a  marriage  that  had  gone  on  the 
rocks.  He  was  an  excellent  man  with  the  horses, 
and  good  company  about  a  camp-fire,  for  some- 
where he  had  picked  up  an  education  and  was  well- 
informed.  He  gave  the  two  tenderfeet  a  good 
training  in  the  rudiments  of  "  cattle-punching," 
sending  first  one  and  then  the  other  off  to  distant 
round-ups  to  test  their  abilities  among  strangers. 


190       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Sewall  proved  unadaptable,  for  he  was  rather  old 
to  learn  new  tricks  so  far  removed  from  the  activi- 
ties that  were  familiar  to  him;  but  Dow  became  a 
"  cow-hand  "  overnight. 

Experience  was  not  greatly  mollifying  Sewall's 
opinion  of  the  region  in  which  his  lot  had  been  cast. 

The  sun  when  it  shines  clear  [he  wrote  his  brother 
Sam  after  he  had  been  in  the  Bad  Lands  six  weeks] 
strikes  the  bare  sides  of  the  Buttes  and  comes  down  on 
the  treeless  bottoms  hot  enough  to  make  a  Rattlesnake 
pant.  If  you  can  get  in  the  shade  there  is  most  always  a 
breeze.  The  grand  trouble  is  you  can't  get  in  the  shade. 
There's  no  shade  to  get  into  and  the  great  sandy  Desert 
is  cool  compared  with  some  of  the  gulches,  but  as  you 
ride  it  is  not  quite  so  bad.  The  Ponys  when  they  are  up 
to  some  trick  are  lively  and  smart,  all  other  times  they 
are  tired,  are  very  tame  and  look  very  meek  and  gentle. 
But  just  let  one  of  them  get  the  start  of  you  in  any  way 
and  you  are  left.  Am  glad  to  say  mine  has  never  really 
got  the  start  yet.  We  have  had  a  number  of  differences 
and  controverseys,  but  my  arguments  have  always  pre- 
vailed so  far. 

About  the  middle  of  September,  the  two  back- 
woodsmen moved  down  to  Elkhorn  Bottom,  leaving 
Robins  in  charge  of  the  cattle.  Dow  went  away  on 
a  round-up  and  Sewall  undertook  to  put  in  livable 
shape  a  dugout  that  stood  on  the  river-bank  some 
thirty  or  forty  yards  from  the  place  which  Roosevelt 
had,  on  a  previous  visit,  selected  as  the  site  for  the 
ranch-house  which  Sewall  and  Dow  were  to  build. 
The  shack  had  belonged  to  a  hunter  who  had  left 
the  country,  and  was  not  sumptuous  in  its  fittings. 


CHIMNEY  BUTTE  RANCH. 
Thkodokk  Hoohkvklt,  Proprietor. 
FKRBI9  «3k  Merrifikld,  Managern. 

P.  O.  address, 
Little  Missouri, 
I>.  T.       Range, 

liittle  Missouri, 
8  niiloM  soutii 
of  railroad. 

as  in  cut 
I  on  let'l 
hip  and 
riglit 
sido,     bolli     or 
leitlier,  ai\d 


U  1       I  cl  1  I  1  I 


down    cut    dt'wlap. 
Horse  l)rand, 


* 


on  loft  liip. 


b:LlCUOKN  RANCH. 

Thkoi)oi:k  Kooskvklt,  Pn)prietor, 

SkAW'AM.  ik  l>ou".  Managers. 


P.  O.  address,  Lit- 
tle Missouri,  D.  T. 

Range.  Little  Mis- 
souri, twenty-tive 
miles  nortli  of  rail- 
road. 


as  iu  cut,  on 


left  side,  A 


/lou  right,, 
/I   or     the     re- 
verse. 
Horse   brand, 
.  on-  right  or 
A  left    should- 


ROOSEVELT'S  BRANDS 


RUMBLINGS  FROM  THE  MARQUIS      191 

Dow  returned  from  the  round-up  with  interesting 
news.  The  Marquis,  it  seemed,  had  by  no  means 
resigned  his  claim  to  the  territory  on  which  Roose- 
velt had  established  "squatter's  rights."  Dow  over- 
heard one  of  the  Marquis's  men  confiding  to  another 
that  "  there'd  be  some  dead  men  round  that  Elkhorn 
shack  some  day." 

Sewall  received  the  news  with  calm  satisfaction. 
"  Well,"  he  drawled,  "  if  there's  going  to  be  any 
dead  men  hereabouts,  I  cal'late  we  can  fix  it  so 
it  won't  be  us." 

Sewall  and  Dow  began  cutting  timber  for  the 
house  in  a  thick  grove  of  cottonwoods  two  or  three 
hundred  yards  from  the  river,  keeping  a  weather 
eye  open  for  trouble.  A  day  or  two  after  Dow's 
return  from  the  round-up,  one  of  the  Marquis's 
men  rode  up  to  them  where  they  were  working. 

"  There's  a  vigilance  committee  around,  I 
hear,"  he  remarked  casually.  "  You  haven't  seen 
anything  of  'em  yet  hereabouts,  have  you?  I  hear 
they're  considerin'   makin'   a   call  on   you  folks." 

The  men  from  Maine  said  to  each  other  that  the 
thing  began  to  look  "  smoky."  They  consulted 
Captain  Robins,  who  agreed  that  "  smoky  "  was 
the  word,  and  they  carried  rifles  after  that  when 
they  went  to  cut  timber. 

For  they  knew  very  well  that  the  hint  which  the 
Marquis's  man  had  lightly  thrown  out  was  no  idle 
attempt  at  intimidation  based  on  nothing  but  the 
hope  that  the  Easterners  were  timid.  The  activities 
of  Granville  Stuart's  raiders  had  stimulated   the 


192       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

formation  of  other  vigilance  committees,  inspired 
in  part  by  less  lofty  motives  than  those  which 
impelled  the  president  of  the  Montana  Stock- 
growers'  Association  and  his  friends.  On  the  border 
between  Dakota  and  Montana  a  company  of  rough 
characters  who  called  themselves  vigilantes  began 
to  make  themselves  the  topic  of  excited  conversa- 
tion. They  were  said  to  be  after  horse-thieves,  but 
it  became  noticeable  that  their  activities  seemed  to 
be  directed  mainly  against  the  small  ranchers  on 
the  edge  of  the  Bad  Lands.  It  was  rumored  that 
certain  large  ranchmen  were  backing  them  in  the 
hope  of  driving  the  "  nesters  "  out  of  the  country. 

The  cowmen  here  are  opposed,  not  only  to  the  In- 
dians, but  also  to  white  settlers  [wrote  the  Western 
correspondent  of  the  New  York  Sun].  They  want  the 
land  these  white  and  red  settlers  are  taking  up.  Vast 
tracts  —  uncultivated  ranges,  not  settlements  —  are 
what  they  desire.  The  small  holder  —  the  man  with 
a  little  bunch  of  cattle  —  is  not  wanted.  They  freeze 
him  out.  Somehow  he  loses  cattle,  or  they  are  killed 
by  parties  unknown. 

Sewall  and  Dow  had  a  right  to  keep  their  guns 
near  them  while  they  were  at  work  in  the  grove  on 
Elkhorn  Bottom. 

Meanwhile,  the  endeavors  of  Granville  Stuart's 
vigilantes  were  having  their  results.  The  precipitous 
methods  of  the  "  stranglers,"  as  they  were  grimly 
called,  began  to  give  the  most  hardened  "  the 
creeps."  Who  the  "  stranglers  "  themselves  were, 
nobody  seemed  to  know.    It  was  rumored,  on  the 


THE  STRANGLERS  193 

one  hand,  that  they  included  the  biggest  ranch- 
owners  in  the  Northwest;  on  the  other  hand,  it 
was  stated  that  they  were  bands  of  lawless  Texans 
driven  out  of  the  Panhandle  and  hired  by  the  ranch- 
men at  thirty  dollars  a  month  "  to  clean  up  the 
country."  Whoever  they  were,  they  moved  swiftly 
and  acted  without  hesitation.  The  newspapers  said 
little  about  them,  partly  because  they  knew  little, 
partly  because  there  was  a  general  tacit  under- 
standing that  the  whole  thing,  though  necessary, 
was  a  disagreeable  business,  and  the  less  said  of 
it  the  better. 

The  truth  seems  to  be  that  behind  the  whole 
movement  to  rid  eastern  Montana  and  western 
Dakota  of  the  horse-thieves  was  a  loose  organiza- 
tion of  cattlemen  of  which  Granville  Stuart  and  his 
friends  were  the  directing  heads.  What  funds  were 
needed  they  provided.  They  designated,  moreover, 
certain  responsible  men  in  the  different  round-up 
districts,  to  whom  subordinate  bands  of  the 
"  stranglers  "  reported  from  time  to  time  for  orders. 
Each  subordinate  band  operated  independently  of 
the  others,  and  the  leader  in  one  district  knew 
nothing  as  a  rule  of  the  operations  of  the  other 
bands.  He  told  the  "  stranglers "  what  men  to 
"  get,"  and  that  was  all;  and  a  day  or  two  later  a 
man  here  and  a  man  there  would  be  found  dangling 
from  a  cottonwood. 

In  certain  cases,  Packard,  who  successfully  com- 
bined the  functions  of  law  officer  and  news-gatherer, 
knew  beforehand  what  men  were  to  be  hanged.   On 


194       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

one  occasion  he  was  informed  that  two  notorious 
characters  were  to  be  done  away  with  on  the  fol- 
lowing Thursday.  The  operations  of  the  stranglers 
were  as  a  rule  terrifyingly  punctual,  and  as  Thursday 
was  the  day  on  which  the  Cowboy  went  to  press,  he 
announced  in  it,  with  an  awful  punctuality  of  his 
own,  the  sudden  demise  of  the  thieves  in  question. 

He  carried  the  papers  to  the  depot  to  put  them  on 
the  afternoon  train  bound  for  the  west,  for  the 
Cowboy  was  popular  with  the  passengers  and  he 
disposed  of  an  edition  of  seven  or  eight  hundred 
weekly  with  them  in  excess  of  his  regular  edition. 
As  he  was  about  to  step  on  the  train,  two  men 
stepped  down.  They  were  the  horse-thieves  whose 
death  he  had  too  confidently  announced. 

He  stared  at  them,  shocked  to  the  marrow,  feeling 
as  though  he  had  seen  ghosts.  Would  they  stay  in 
Medora,  or  would  they  go  on  to  where  frontier 
justice  was  awaiting  them?  Would  they  see  the 
announcement  in  the  Cowboy  ?  He  remembered 
that  they  could  not  read. 

Fascinated,  he  watched  them.  The  train  started. 
The  two  men  jumped  aboard. 

That  night  they  were  hanged. 

Exactly  what  relation  the  vigilance  committee 
which  was  seeking  to  drive  the  "  nesters  "  out  of 
western  Montana  bore  to  Granville  Stuart's  organ- 
ization, is  difficult  to  determine.  They  had  probably 
originally  been  one  of  the  subordinate  bands, 
who  were  "  feeling  their  oats,"  and,  under  the 
pretense  of  "  cleaning  up  the  country,"  were  clean- 


THE  BAND  OF  FLOPPING  BILL         195 

ing  up  personal  scores.  The  captain  of  the  band 
was  a  man  called  "  Flopping  Bill,"  a  distinctly 
shady  character,  and  the  band  itself  was  made  up 
of  irresponsible  creatures  who  welcomed  the  op- 
portunity to  do,  in  the  cause  of  righteousness,  a 
number  of  things  for  which  under  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances they  would  have  been  promptly  hanged. 
Their  first  act  as  a  body  was  to  engage  a  French 
Canadian  named  Louis  La  Pache  as  guide.  La 
Pache  was  himself  awaiting  trial  at  Miles  City 
for  horse-stealing,  but  there  is  no  indication  in  the 
records  that  he  was  chosen  because  he  was  ready 
to  turn  State's  evidence.  He  was  merely  the  type 
that  Flopping  Bill's  guardians  of  law  and  order 
would  naturally  choose. 

The  raiders  began  their  activities  near  the  mouth 
of  Beaver  Creek,  not  ten  miles  from  the  spot  where 
Sewall  and  Dow  (with  their  rifles  at  hand)  were 
hewing  timber  for  the  new  house.  Two  cowpunchers 
had  recently  started  a  ranch  there.  They  were 
generally  considered  honest,  but  the  vigilantes  had 
marked  them  for  destruction,  and  descended  upon 
the  ranch  ready  to  hang  any  one  in  sight.  They 
found  only  a  hired  man,  an  Englishman,  for  the 
ranchmen  had  got  wind  of  the  raid  and  fled;  and 
spent  their  enthusiasm  for  order  in  "  allowing  the 
Englishman  to  feel  the  sansation  of  a  lariat  round 
his  neck,"  as  the  record  runs,  releasing  him  on  his 
promise  to  leave  the  country  forever.  Thereupon 
they  nailed  a  paper,  signed  with  skull  and  cross- 
bones,  on  the  door  of  the  cabin  ordering  the  ranch- 


196       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

men  "  to  vacate  ";  and  proceeded  to  other  pastures. 

They  stopped  at  a  half  dozen  ranches,  terrorizing 
and  burning,  but  catching  no  horse-thieves.  It  is 
impossible  through  the  obscurity  that  shrouds  the 
grim  events  of  that  autumn  to  determine  to  what 
extent  they  were  honestly  in  pursuit  of  law-breakers 
or  were  merely  endeavoring,  at  the  behest  of  some 
of  the  great  cattle-owners,  to  drive  the  small  stock- 
men out  of  the  country.  Their  motives  were  pos- 
sibly mixed.  The  small  ranchers  were  notoriously 
not  always  what  they  seemed.  Most  of  the  horse- 
thieves  posed  as  "nesters,"  hiding  in  underground 
stables  by  day  the  horses  they  stole  by  night.  Each 
registered  his  own  brand  and  sometimes  more  than 
one;  but  the  brands  were  carefully  contrived.  If 
you  intended,  for  instance,  to  prey  on  the  great  herds 
of  the  "Long  X  outfit,"  thus  X,  you  called  your 
brand  "Four  Diamonds,"  marking  it  thus  <^.  A 
quick  fire  and  a  running  iron  did  the  trick.  It  was  all 
very  simple  and  very  profitable  and  if  you  were 
caught  there  was  always  a  Certain  Person  (to  whom 
you  were  accustomed  to  give  an  accounting),  and 
beyond  him  a  vague  but  powerful  Somebody  Else 
to  stand  between  you  and  the  law.  There  would  be 
no  trial,  or,  if  there  were  a  trial,  there  would  be  no 
witnesses,  or,  if  there  were  witnesses,  there  would  be 
a  lenient  judge  and  a  skeptical  jury.  The  methods 
of  Flopping  Bill's  party  were  no  doubt  reprehensible, 
but  in  attacking  some  of  the  little  "nesters"  the 
raiders  came  close  to  the  heart  of  many  troubles. 

But  indiscriminate  terrorizing  by  any  one  in  any 


FIFTEEN  MARKED  MEN  197 

cause  was  not  to  the  taste  of  the  ranchmen  up 
and  down  the  Little  Missouri  who  happened  to  be 
law-abiding.  The  raiders  were  starting  prairie  fires, 
moreover,  with  the  purpose  evidently  of  destroying 
the  pasture  of  the  small  stockmen,  and  were  in 
consequence  vitally  affecting  the  interests  of  every 
man  who  owned  cattle  anywhere  in  the  valley. 
That  these  acts  of  vandalism  were  the  work  of  a 
body  from  another  Territory,  invading  the  Bad 
Lands  for  purposes  of  reform,  did  not  add  greatly 
to  their  popularity.  The  ranchmen  set  about  to  or- 
ganize a  vigilance  committee  of  their  own  to  repel 
the  invaders,  if  necessary,  by  force. 

Whether  the  raiders  got  wind  of  this  purpose  is 
not  known,  but  they  evidently  decided  that  they 
had  overplayed  their  hand,  for  they  suddenly 
veered  in  their  course  and  troubled  the  Bad  Lands 
no  more.  But  before  they  went  they  dropped  a 
bomb  which  did  more  than  many  conflagrations  to 
carry  out  their  ostensible  mission  as  discouragers 
of  evil-doing. 

It  happened  that  not  far  from  Elkhorn  Bottom 
the  vigilantes  came  upon  Pierce  Bolan,  who,  it 
will  be  remembered,  had  some  time  previous  dis- 
coursed to  Fisher  on  the  merits  of  the  "  considerate 
treatment  "  in  relations  with  horse-thieves.  He  was 
himself  as  honest  as  daylight,  but,  as  ill-luck  would 
have  it,  the  raiders  found  him  afoot,  and,  assuming 
that  he  was  about  to  steal  a  horse,  called  on  him  to 
confess.  He  declared  that  he  had  nothing  to  confess. 
The  raiders  thereupon   threw   a  rope  around   his 


198       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

neck  and  drew  him  up  in  such  a  way  that  his  feet 
just  touched  the  ground.  The  victim  continued 
to  proclaim  his  innocence  and  the  vigilantes  finally 
released  him,  but  not  until  he  was  unconscious. 
When  he  came  to,  the  raiders  were  gone,  but  near-by 
he  found  a  paper  possibly  dropped  not  altogether 
inadvertently.  It  bore  the  names  of  fifteen  men 
along  the  Little  Missouri  whom  Granville  Stuart's 
committee  had  marked  for  punishment. 

What  Bolan  did  with  the  list,  to  whom  he  showed 
the  list,  in  what  way  he  reached  the  men  whose 
names  were  on  the  list  —  all  that  is  lost  to  history. 
All  that  we  know  is  that  there  was  a  great  scattering 
during  the  succeeding  days,  and  certain  men  who 
were  thought  most  reputable  discovered  suddenly 
that  they  had  pressing  business  in  California  or 
New  York. 

"  I  never  saw  a  full  list  of  the  names  on  that 
paper,"  said  Fisher  years  afterward,  "  and  knew 
nothing  of  what  was  going  on  until  two  of  them 
came  to  me  about  the  matter.  They  found  that  I 
was  really  ignorant  and  then  asked  what  I  would 
do  if  in  their  place.  I  advised  hiding  out  for  a  while 
until  matters  had  cooled  off,  which  they  did." 

Who  the  men  were  whose  names  were  on  that  list 
is  a  secret  which  those  who  held  it  never  revealed 
and  inquisitive  minds  along  the  Little  Missouri 
could  never  definitely  solve.  Rumor  suggested  this 
man  and  that  whose  ways  had  been  devious,  but 
only  one  name  was  ever  mentioned  with  certainty. 
That   name   was   Maunders.    No   one   seemed    to 


MAUNDERS  THE  DISCREET  199 

question  that  if  any  one  was  going  to  be  hanged, 
Maunders  was  the  most  Hkely  candidate. 

That  gentleman,  meanwhile,  was  fully  aware  that 
he  had  been  marked  for  slaughter,  but  he  kept  his 
head,  and,  trusting  no  doubt  to  the  protection  of 
the  Marquis,  calmly  remained  in  Medora,  refusing 
by  flight  to  present  his  enemies  with  evidence  of  an 
uneasy  conscience.  To  his  friends  he  declared  that 
Fisher  alone  was  responsible  for  having  his  name 
placed  on  the  list,  and  breathed  dire  threats  against 
the  manager  of  the  Marquis's  Refrigerator  Company. 

Fisher  was  not  greatly  disturbed  by  the  rumors 
that  reached  him  of  Maunders's  determination  to 
kill  him  at  the  first  opportunity.  He  even  went 
hunting  alone  with  the  outwardly  affable  "  bad 
man." 

Some  of  the  "  boys  "  thought  he  was  taking  un- 
necessary risks,  and  told  him.  so.  "  You're  taking 
a  big  chance  in  going  out  alone  with  Maunders. 
He's  got  it  in  for  you." 

Fisher  smiled.  "  Perhaps  you  haven't  noticed," 
he  said,  "  that  I  always  make  certain  that  one  or 
the  other  of  you  fellows  sees  us  leave.  Maunders 
would  break  his  neck  to  see  me  get  back  safely." 

Unquestionably,  Maunders  had  an  almost  over- 
developed bump  of  caution.  He  left  Fisher  un- 
harmed and  turned  his  attention  to  the  two  back- 
woodsmen from  Maine  who  were  holding  down  the 
most  desirable  claim  north  of  Medora  for  an  Eastern 
tenderfoot. 

One  Sunday  morning  late  in  September  Sewall 


200       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

was  alone  in  the  dugout  at  the  river-bank.  Dow  was 
off  on  a  stroll  and  Sewall  was  writing  his  weekly- 
letter  home,  when  he  suddenly  heard  hoof-beats 
punctuated  with  shots.  He  went  to  the  door.  Six 
rough-looking  characters  on  horseback  were  outside 
with  smoking  rifles  in  their  hands.  He  knew  only 
one  of  them,  but  he  was  evidently  the  leader.  It 
was  Maunders.  Sewall  took  in  the  situation  and 
invited  them  all  inside. 

The  men  had  been  drinking,  and,  suspecting 
that  they  would  be  hungry,  Sewall  offered  them 
food.  Dow  was  an  excellent  cook  and  in  the  ashes 
of  the  hearth  was  a  pot  of  baked  beans,  intended 
for  their  own  midday  meal.  Sewall,  keeping  care- 
fully within  reach  of  one  or  the  other  of  his  weapons 
which  hung  on  the  wall,  set  the  pot  before  the  evil- 
faced  gunmen. 

Maunders,  who  was  slightly  drunk,  ate  raven- 
ously and  directly  began  to  sing  the  praises  of  the 
beans.   Sewall  filled  his  plate,  and  filled  it  again. 

"  I  thought  I  would  do  ever>^thing  I  could  to 
make  them  comfortable,"  he  remarked,  telling 
about  it  later,  "  and  then  if  they  cooked  up  any 
racket  we  should  have  to  see  what  the  end  would 
be.  I  knew  that  if  they  were  well  filled,  it  would 
have  a  tendency  to  make  them  good-natured,  and 
besides  that  it  puts  a  man  lin  father  an  awkward 
position,  when  he's  got  well  treated,  to  start  a 
rumpus." 

Sewall  watched  the  men  unostentatiously,  but 
with  an  eagle  eye.   He  had  made  up  his  mind  that 


SEWALL  RECEIVES  CALLERS  201 

if  there  were  to  be  any  dead  men  thereabouts 
Maunders  was  to  be  the  first.  "  He  being  the  leader 
I  thought  I  would  make  sure  of  him  whatever 
happened  to  me." 

He  noted,  not  without  satisfaction,  that  the  men 
were  looking  around  the  cabin,  regarding  the  wea- 
pons with  attention.  He  showed  Maunders  about. 
The  gunman  agreed  without  enthusiasm  that  they 
had  "  got  things  fixed  up  in  very  fine  shape,"  and 
departed.  He  treated  Sewall  most  affably  there- 
after, but  the  backwoodsmen  were  made  aware  in 
one  way  and  another  that  the  old  mischief-maker 
had  not  yet  given  up  the  idea  of  driving  Theodore 
Roosevelt  and  his  "  outfit  "  off  the  claim  at  Elkhorn 
Bottom. 


XII 

It  was  underneath  the  stars,  the  Httle  peeking  stars, 

That  we  lay  and  dreamed  of  Eden  in  the  hills; 
We  were  neither  sad  nor  gay,  but  just  wondering,  while  we  lay, 

What  a  mighty  lot  of  space  creation  fills. 

Our  fire  was  just  a  spark;  dot  of  red  against  the  dark, 

And  around  the  fire  an  awful  lot  of  night. 
The  purple,  changing  air  was  as  quiet  as  a  prayer. 

And  the  moon  came  up  and  froze  the  mountains  white. 

Henry  Herbert  Knibbs 

The  "  boss  "  of  Elkhorn  Ranch,  n^eanwhile,  oblivi- 
ous of  the  heat  which  he  was  generating  in  the 
Marquis's  Prime  Minister,  was  taking  his  slow 
course  northeastward  across  Wyoming  to  the  Bad 
Lands.  It  was  long  and  weary  traveling  across 
the  desolate  reaches  of  burnt  prairie.  The  horses 
began  to  droop.  At  last,  in  some  heavy  sand-hills 
east  of  the  Little  Beaver,  one  of  the  team  pulling 
the  heavily  laden  wagon  played  out  com.pletely, 
and  they  had  to  put  the  toughest  of  the  saddle 
ponies  in  his  place.  Night  was  coming  on  fast 
as  they  crossed  the  final  ridge  and  came  in  sight 
of  as  singular  a  bit  of  country  as  any  of  them  had 
ever  seen.  Scattered  over  a  space  not  more  than 
three  quarters  of  a  mile  square  were  countless  iso- 
lated buttes  of  sandstone,  varying  in  height  from 
fifteen  to  fifty  feet.  Some  of  them  rose  as  sharp 
peaks  or  ridges  or  as  connected  chains,  but  the 
greater  number  by  far  were  topped  with  diminutive 
table-lands,  some  thirty  feet  across,  some  seventy, 


FANTASTIC  FORMATION  AT  MEDICINE  BUTTES 


MEDICINE   BUTTES 


MEDICINE  BUTTES  203 

some  two  hundred.  The  sides  were  perpendicular, 
and  were  cut  and  channeled  by  the  weather  into 
most  curious  caves  and  columns  and  battlements 
and  spires.  Here  and  there  ledges  ran  along  the 
faces  of  the  cliffs  and  eerie  protrusions  jutted  out 
from  the  corners.  Grave  pine-trees  rose  loftily 
among  the  strange  creations  of  water  and  wind  set 
in  a  desert  of  snow-white  sand.  It  was  a  beautiful 
and  fantastic  place  and  they  made  their  camp  there. 

The  moon  was  full  and  the  night  clear.  In  an 
angle  of  a  cliff  they  built  a  roaring  pine-log  fire 
whose  flames,  leaping  up  the  gray  wall,  made  wild 
sport  of  the  bold  corners  and  strange-looking 
escarpments  of  the  rock.  Beyond  the  circle  that 
the  firelight  brought  luridly  to  life,  the  buttes  in 
the  moonlight  had  their  own  still  magic.  Against 
the  shining  silver  of  the  cliffs  the  pines  showed 
dark  and  somber,  and  when  the  branches  stirred, 
the  bright  light  danced  on  the  ground  making  it 
appear  like  a  sheet  of  molten  metal. 

It  was  like  a  countn>^  seen  in  a  dream. 

The  next  morning  all  was  changed.  A  wild  gale 
was  blowing  and  rain  beat  about  them  in  level 
sheets.  A  wet  fog  came  and  went  and  gave  place 
at  last  to  a  steady  rain,  as  the  gale  gave  place  to 
a  hurricane.  They  spent  a  miserable  day  and  night 
shifting  from  shelter  to  shelter  with  the  shifting 
wind;  another  day  and  another  night.  Their  pro- 
visions were  almost  gone,  the  fire  refused  to  burn 
in  the  fierce  downpour,  the  horses  drifted  far  off 
before  the  storm.  .  .  . 


204       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

"  Fortunately,"  remarked  Roosevelt  later,  "  we 
had  all  learned  that,  no  matter  how  bad  things 
were,  grumbling  and  bad  temper  can  always  be 
depended  upon  to  make  them  worse,  and  so  bore 
our  ill-fortune,  if  not  with  stoical  indifference,  at 
least  in  perfect  quiet." 

The  third  day  dawned  crisp  and  clear,  and  once 
more  the  wagon  lumbered  on.  They  made  camp 
that  night  some  forty  miles  southwest  of  Lang's. 
They  were  still  three  days  from  home,  three  days 
of  crawling  voyaging  beside  the  fagged  team.  The 
country  was  monotonous,  moreover,  without  much 
game. 

"  I  think  I'd  like  to  ride  in  and  wake  the  boys 
up  for  breakfast,"  remarked  Merrifield. 

"  Good!"  exclaimed  Roosevelt.  "  I'll  do  it  with 
you." 

Merrifield  argued  the  matter.  Roosevelt  had 
been  in  the  saddle  all  day  and  it  was  eighty  miles 
to  the  Maltese  Cross. 

"I'm  going  with  you.  I  want  to  wind  up  this 
trip  myself,"  said  Roosevelt,  and  there  the  argument 
ended. 

At  nine  o'clock  they  saddled  their  tough  little 
ponies,  and  rode  off  out  of  the  circle  of  firelight. 
The  October  air  was  cool  in  their  faces  as  they  loped 
steadily  mile  after  mile  over  the  moonlit  prairie. 

Roosevelt  later  described  that  memorable  ride. 

The  hoof-beats  of  our  horses  rang  out  in  steady  rhythm 
through  the  silence  of  the  night,  otherwise  unbroken 
save  now  and  then  by  the  wailing  cry  of  a  coyote.   The 


ROOSEVELT  RETURNS  TO  ELKHORN     205 

rolling  plains  stretched  out  on  all  sides  of  us,  shimmer'- 
ing  in  the  clear  moonlight;  and  occasionally  a  band  of 
spectral-looking  antelope  swept  silently  away  from 
before  our  path.  Once  we  went  by  a  drove  of  Texan 
cattle,  who  stared  wildly  at  the  intruders;  as  we  passed 
they  charged  down  by  us,  the  ground  rumbling  beneath 
their  tread,  while  their  long  horns  knocked  against  each 
other  with  a  sound  like  the  clattering  of  a  multitude 
of  castanets.  We  could  see  clearly  enough  to  keep  our 
general  course  over  the  trackless  plain,  steering  by  the 
stars  where  the  prairie  was  perfectly  level  and  without 
landmarks;  and  our  ride  was  timed  well,  for  as  we  gal- 
loped down  into  the  valley  of  the  Little  A'lissouri  the 
sky  above  the  line  of  the  level  bluffs  in  our  front  was 
crimson  with  the  glow  of  the  unrisen  sun. 

Roosevelt  rode  down  to  Elkhorn  a  day  or  two 
after  his  return  to  the  Maltese  Cross,  and  found 
Sew^all  and  Dow  busy  cutting  the  timber  for  the 
new  house,  which  was  to  stand  in  the  shade  of  a  row 
of  Cottonwood  trees  overlooking  the  broad,  shallow 
bed  of  the  Little  Missouri.  They  were  both  mighty 
men  with  the  axe.  Roosevelt  worked  with  them 
for  a  few  days.  He  himself  was  no  amateur,  but 
he  could  not  compete  with  the  stalwart  back- 
woodsmen. 

i  One  evening  he  overheard  Captain  Robins  ask 
Dow  what  the  day's  cut  had  been.  "  Well,  Bill  cut 
down  fifty-three,"  answ^ered  Dow.  "  I  cut  forty- 
nine,  and  the  boss,"  he  added  dryly,  not  realizing 
that  Roosevelt  was  within  hearing — "the  boss 
he  beavered  down  seventeen." 

Roosevelt  remembered  the  tree-stumps  he  had 
seen  gnawed  down  by  beavers,  and  grinned. 


2o6       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Roosevelt  found  that  the  men  from  Maine  were 
adapting  themselves  admirably  to  their  strange 
surroundings.  Dow  was  already  an  excellent  cow- 
hand.   Sewall's  abilities  ran  in  other  directions. 

We  are  hewing  away  at  the  stuff  for  the  house  [Sewall 
wrote  his  brother  on  October  19th].  It  is  to  be  60  ft. 
long  and  30  wide,  the  walls  9  ft.  high,  so  you  can  see  it 
is  quite  a  job  to  hew  it  out  on  three  sides,  but  we  have 
plenty  of  time.  Theodore  wants  us  to  ride  and  explore 
one  day  out  of  each  week  and  we  have  to  go  to  town 
after  our  mail  once  a  week,  so  we  don't  work  more 
than,  half  the  time.  It  is  a  good  job  and  a  big  one, 
but  we  have  lots  of  time  between  this  and  spring. 

Meanwhile,  he  stubbornly  insisted  that  the  coun- 
try was  not  adapted  to  cattle. 

I  think  I  already  see  a  good  many  drawbacks  to  this 
country  [he  wrote].  The  Stock  business  is  a  new  busi- 
ness in  the  Bad  Lands  and  I  can't  find  as  anybody 
has  made  anything  at  it,  yet  they  all  expect  to.  I 
think  they  have  all  lost  as  yet.  Talked  the  other  day 
with  one  of  the  biggest  Stock  men  here.  He  is  hired  by 
the  month  to  boss.  He  said  nobody  knew  whether 
there  was  anything  in  it  or  not,  yet.  He  had  been 
here  three  years  and  sometimes  thought  there  was  not 
much  in  it,  said  it  was  very  expensive  and  a  great 
many  outs  to  it  and  I  believe  he  told  the  truth.  Out 
about  town  they  blow  it  up,  want  to  get  everybody  at 
it  they  can.  We  shall  see  in  time.  Can  tell  better  in  the 
spring  after  we  see  how  they  come  in  with  their  cattle. 

The  truth  was,  Bill  knew  the  ways  of  cattle,  for 
he  had  run  cattle  in  the  open  in  Maine  under  cli- 
matic conditions  not  dissimilar  to  those  of  the 
Dakota  country.   His  experience  had  taught  him 


MAUNDERS  THREATENS  ROOSEVELT    207 

that  when  a  cow  is  allowed  to  have  one  calf  after 
another  without  special  feeding,  she  is  more  than 
likely  to  die  after  the  third  calf.  He  knew  also 
that  when  a  cow  calves  in  cold  weather,  she  is 
likely  to  freeze  her  udder  and  be  ruined,  and  lose  the 
calf  besides. 

"  Those  cows  will  either  have  to  be  fed,"  he  said 
to  Roosevelt,  "  or  they'll  die." 

Roosevelt  took  Sewall's  pessimism  with  a  grain 
of  salt.  "  No  one  hereabouts  seems  to  think  there's 
any  danger  of  that  sort,"  he  said.  "  I  think.  Bill, 
you're  wrong." 

"  I  hope  I  am,"  said  Bill;  and  there  the  matter 
dropped. 

It  was  while  Roosevelt  was  working  at  Elkhorn 
that  further  rumors  of  trouble  came  from  the  party 
of  the  Marquis.  Maunders  insisted  that  he  had  a 
prior  claim  to  the  shack  in  which  Sewall  and  Dow 
were  living  and  all  the  land  that  lay  around  it, 
and  demanded  five  hundred  dollars  for  his  rights. 
Roosevelt  had  from  the  first  scouted  the  claim,  for 
Maunders  had  a  w^ay  of  claiming  any  shack  which 
a  hunter  deserted  anywhere.  Vague  threats  which 
Maunders  w^as  making  filled  the  air,  but  did  not 
greatly  disturb  Roosevelt.  Sewall  and  Dow,  how^- 
ever,  had  heard  a  rumor  which  sounded  authentic 
and  might  require  attention.  Maunders  had  said 
that  he  was  going  to  shoot  Roosevelt  at  the  next 
opportunity.  They  passed  the  news  on  to  "  the 
boss." 

This  was  decidedly  interesting.   Maunders  was 


208       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

known  as  a  good  shot  and  was  well  protected  by 
the  Marquis. 

Roosevelt  promptly  saddled  his  horse  and  rode 
back  up  the  river.  Maunders's  shack  stood  on  the 
west  bank  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the  Pyramid 
Park  Hotel.  Roosevelt  knocked  on  the  door. 
Maunders  opened  it. 

"  Maunders,"  said  Roosevelt  sharply,  "  I  under- 
stand that  you  have  threatened  to  kill  me  on  sight. 
I  have  come  over  to  see  when  you  want  to  begin 
the  killing  and  to  let  you  know  that,  if  you  have 
anything  to  say  against  me,  now  is  the  time  for  you 
to  say  it." 

Maunders  looked  unhappy.  After  a  brief  conversa- 
tion it  appeared  that  Maunders  did  not  after  all  want 
to  shoot  him.  He  had  been  "  misquoted,"  he  said. 
They  parted,  understanding  one  another  perfectly. 

Roosevelt  left  Medora  on  October  7th,  bound  for 
New  York.  He  had  decided,  after  all,  not  to  remain 
aloof  from  the  political  campaign.  He  deeply  dis- 
trusted the  Democratic  Party,  on  the  one  hand,  and 
he  was  enraged  at  the  nominations  of  the  Repub- 
lican Party,  on  the  other;  but  the  "  Mugwumps," 
those  Republicans  who,  with  a  self-conscious  high- 
mindedness  which  irritated  him  almost  beyond 
words,  were  supporting  the  Democratic  nominee, 
he  absolutely  despised.  Besides,  it  w^as  not  in  him 
to  be  neutral  in  any  fight.  He  admitted  that  freely. 
During  the  final  weeks  of  the  campaign  he  made 
numerous  speeches  in  New  York  and  elsewhere 
which  were  not  neutral  in  the  least. 


PACKARD'S  STAGE-LINE  209 

By  leaving  Medora  on  the  7th  of  October  he 
missed  a  memorable  occasion,  for  on  the  following 
day  Packard  at  last  opened  his  stage-line.  The 
ex-baseball  player  had  met  and  surmounted  an  ar- 
ray of  obstacles  that  would  have  daunted  anybody 
but  a  youngster  on  the  Western  frontier.  He  had 
completed  his  building  operations  by  the  end  of 
September,  and  by  the  first  of  October  he  had 
distributed  his  hostlers,  his  eating-house  keepers, 
his  helpers  and  his  "  middle-route  "  drivers,  among 
the  sixteen  relay-stations  that  lined  the  wheel- 
tracks  which  the  Marquis  was  pleased  to  call  the 
"  highway  "  to  the  Black  Hills.  The  horses  which 
he  had  purchased  in  a  dozen  different  places  in  the 
course  of  the  summer  were  not  such  as  to  allay 
the  trepidation  of  timid  travelers.  They  had  none 
of  them  been  broken  to  harness  before  Packard's 
agents  had  found  them  and  broken  them  in  their 
own  casual  and  none  too  gentle  fashion.  Packard 
would  have  preferred  to  have  horses  which  had  be- 
come accustomed  to  the  restraining  hand  of  man, 
but  "  harness-broke "  horses  were  rare  in  that 
country.  Besides,  they  were  expensive,  and,  with 
the  money  coming  from  the  Marquis  only  in  little 
sums,  long-delayed,  Packard  that  summer  was 
hunting  bargains.  As  it  was.  Baron  von  Hoffman, 
who  was  a  business  man  of  vision  and  ability,  was 
none  too  pleased  with  the  mounting  expenses  of  his 
son-in-law's  new  venture. 

"  How  many  horses  have  you  bought?  "  he  asked 
Packard  one  day  rather  sharply. 


210       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

"  A  hundred  and  sixty-six." 

"  How  many  are  you  using  on  the  stage-Hne?  " 

"  A  hundred  and  sixty." 

"  What  are  you  doing  with  the  other  six?  " 

"  They're  out  on  the  Hne." 

"  Humph!  "  grunted  the  Baron  in  despair.  "  Eat- 
ing their  heads  off!  " 

What  the  Baron  said  to  the  Marquis  is  lost  to 
history.  The  family  in  the  new  house  across  the 
river  from  Medora  had  plenty  of  dignity  and  pride. 
Whatever  disagreements  they  had  they  kept  se- 
curely within  their  own  walls,  and  there  was  nothing 
but  a  growing  querulousness  in  the  voice  of  the 
man  who  held  the  purse-strings  to  reveal  to  the 
world  that  Baron  von  Hoffman  was  beginning  to 
think  he  was  laying  away  his  money  in  a  hole  that 
had  no  bottom.  Something  of  that  feeling  seems 
to  have  been  in  the  Marquis's  own  mind,  for  in 
the  interviews  he  gave  to  the  newspapers  the  words 
"  I  won't  be  bled  "  recur. 

On  the  first  of  October,  Packard  was  ready  for 
the  "  dress  rehearsal  "  of  his  stage-line.  That  per- 
formance partook  of  more  than  the  usual  quantity 
of  hazard  connected  with  such  occasions.  At  every 
station,  for  instance,  some  or  all  of  the  six  horses 
had  to  be  roped,  thrown,  and  blindfolded  before 
they  would  let  themselves  be  harnessed.  To  adjust 
the  harness  was  itself  a  ticklish  undertaking  and 
had  to  be  done  with  minute  regard  for  sensitive 
nerves,  for  if  any  part  of  it  struck  a  horse  except 
with  the  pressure  of  its  own  weight,  the  devil  was 


THE  DRESS  REHEARSAL  211 

loose  again,  and  anything  might  happen.  But 
even  when  the  harness  was  finally  on  the  refractory 
backs,  the  work  was  not  half  dcr.e.  Still  blind- 
folded, the  horses  had  to  be  driven,  pulled,  pushed, 
and  hauled  by  main  force  to  their  appointed  places 
in  front  of  the  coach.  Noiselessly,  one  at  a  time,  the 
tugs  were  attached  to  the  single-tree,  and  carefully, 
as  though  they  were  dynamite,  the  reins  were  handed 
to  the  driver.  At  the  Moreau  Station,  two  thirds 
of  the  way  to  E'eadwood,  all  six  horses,  it  happened 
were  practically  unbroken  broncos.  The  driver  was 
on  his  box  with  Packard  at  his  side,  as  they  prepared 
to  start,  and  at  the  head  of  each  horse  stood  one 
of  the  station-hands. 

"  Ready?  "  asked  the  man  at  the  head  of  the 
near  leader. 

"  All  set,"  answered  the  other  helpers, 

"  Let  'er  go!  "  called  the  driver. 

The  helpers  jerked  the  blinds  from  the  horses' 
eyes.  The  broncos  jumped  into  their  collars  as  a 
unit.  As  a  unit,  however,  they  surged  back,  as  they 
became  suddenly  conscious  of  the  horror  that  they 
dreaded  most  —  restraint.  The  off  leader  made  a 
wild  swerve  to  the  right,  backing  toward  the  coach, 
and  dragging  the  near  leader  and  the  near  swing- 
horse  from  their  feet.  The  off  leader,  unable  to 
forge  ahead,  made  a  wild  leap  for  the  off  swing 
horse,  and  fairly  crushed  him  to  earth  with  his 
feet,  himself  tripping  on  the  harness  and  rolling  at 
random  in  the  welter,  his  snapping  hoofs  flashing 
in  every  direction.    The  wheel  team,  in  the  mean- 


212       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

time,  was  doing  what  Packard  later  described  as 
"  a  vaudeville  turn  of  its  own."  The  near  wheeler 
was  bucking  as  though  there  were  no  other  horse 
within  a  hundred  miles;  the  off  wheeler  had  broken 
his  single-tree  and  was  facing  the  coach,  delivering 
kicks  at  the  melee  behind  him  with  whole-hearted 
abandon  and  rigid  impartiality. 

"  It  was  exactly  the  kind  of  situation,"  Packard 
remarked  later,  "  that  George  Myers  would  have 
called  '  a  gol-darned  panorama.'  " 

But  the  horses  were  not  to  have  matters  altogether 
their  own  way,  for  the  helpers  were  experienced 
"  horse-wranglers."  By  main  strength  they  pulled 
the  off  leader  to  his  place  and  blindfolded  him, 
delegating  one  of  their  number  to  sit  on  his  head 
until  the  snarl  might  be  untangled.  The  process 
was  repeated  with  the  other  horses.  The  damage 
proved  to  be  negligible.  A  few  small  harness  straps 
had  snapped,  and  a  single-tree  was  broken.  A 
second  trial  resulted  no  better  than  the  first.  After 
the  half-crazy  animals  had  been  a  second  time 
disentangled  and  a  third  time  harnessed,  quivering, 
to  the  coach,  the  driver  had  his  way  with  them. 
The  horses  jumped  forward  into  a  v/ild  run,  thrash- 
ing the  heavy  coach  about  as  a  small  boy  might  be 
thrashed  about  as  the  tail  in  "  crack  the  whip." 
It  was  a  wild  ride,  but  they  reached  Spearfish  with 
no  bones  broken. 

"  Our  entrance  into  Dead  wood  was  spectacular," 
said  Packard  later,  "  and  ended  in  an  invitation 
ride  to  Lead  City  with  Mayor  Seth  Bullock  at  the 


CONNCCTINC    WITH  THE 

NORTHERN  PACIFIC  RJI/  NEDORA 

SHORTEST  AND  MOST  COMFORTABU  ROUTE  PASSING  rHROUGH 
THE  MOST  INTERESTINQ  PORTIONS  OF  THE  FAMOUS 

BAD  LANDS" 

PMOttSE  TWiOUEH  HCKETS  TO  OEAINIIOD  YIANUdiEninUIFICiLiaNBIOIIA. 


POSTER    OF    THE    MARQUIS    DE    MORESS    DEADWOOD  STAGE-LINE 


ANOTHER  BUBBLE  BURSTS  213 

head  of  the  local  dignitaries,  riding  in  state  inside 
the  coach." 

On  the  8th  of  October,  Packard  offered  the 
dubious  joys  of  his  stage-line  for  the  first  time  to 
the  public;  and  began  to  see  a  faint  prospect  of 
return  on  his  rather  extravagant  investment  of 
energy  and  time.  But  his  satisfaction  died  still- 
born. The  Marquis's  sanguine  temperament  had 
once  more  proved  the  undoing  of  what  might  have 
been  a  profitable  venture.  The  mail  contract,  which 
the  easy-going  Frenchman  had  thought  that  he 
had  secured,  proved  illusory.  Packard,  who  had 
been  glad  to  leave  that  part  of  the  business  to  his 
principal,  discovered,  as  soon  as  he  began  to  inquire 
for  the  mail-bags,  that  what  his  principal  had  actu- 
ally secured  from  the  Postmaster- General  was  not 
a  contract  at  all,  but  merely  a  chance  to  bid  when 
the  annual  offers  for  star  routes  came  up  for  bidding 
the  following  May.  It  was  a  body  blow  to  the 
putative  owner  of  a  stage-line. 

Long  after  the  last  of  his  Deadwood  coaches  had 
been  rattled  to  kindlings  in  Buffalo  Bill's  Wild 
West  Show,  Packard  told  the  last  chapter  of  his 
connection  with  the  Medora  and  Black  Hills 
Forwarding  and  Transportation  Company. 

"  No  mail  contract;  hardly  a  month  of  earnings 
before  winter,  when  there  was  no  chance  of  paying 
operating  expenses;  responsible  for  the  pay-roll, 
but  not  on  it;  with  a  private  pay-roll  and  expenses 
equal  to  or  greater  than  my  private  income;  with 
all  my  cash  savings  gone  in  the  preliminary  expenses 


214       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

of  putting  on  the  line,  and  finally  with  no  chance, 
under  my  contract,  of  getting  a  cent  from  the 
stage-line  before  that  nebulous  time  when  it  had 
paid  for  itself.  The  Marquis  soon  returned  and  I 
told  him  I  could  not  consider  myself  bound  by  the 
contract.  The  delay  in  providing  funds  I  had 
condoned  by  staying  with  the  proposition,  but  a 
mail  contract  which  was  essential  in  helping  to  pay 
expenses  was  not  even  a  possibility  for  seven  or 
more  months  in  the  future.  I  stayed  until  another 
man  was  hired  and  left  my  duties  with  a  grunt  of 
relief."  ^ 

For  Packard  the  failure  of  his  venture  was  not  a 
serious  matter.  The  Cowboy  was  flourishing  and 
there  was  enough  in  all  conscience  to  keep  him 
occupied  in  his  duties  as  Chief  of  Police.  But  for 
the  Marquis  it  was  bad  business.  He  had,  as  it  was, 
few  enough  honest  men  at  his  side. 

1  It  was  Packard's  stage-line  which  brought  Scipio  le  Moyne  (in 
Owen  Wister's  novel)  from  the  Black  Hills  to  Medora  to  become  the 
substitute  cook  of  the  Virginian's  mutinous  "outfit."  The  cook  whom 
the  Virginian  kicked  off  the  train  at  Medora,  because  he  was  too  anx- 
ious to  buy  a  bottle  of  whiskey,  is  said  to  have  been  a  man  named 
Macdonald.  He  remained  in  the  Bad  Lands  as  cook  for  one  of  the 
ranches,  but  he  was  such  an  inveterate  drinker  that  "Nitch"  Kendley 
was  forced  to  take  drastic  measures.  Finding  him  unconscious  one 
day,  just  outside  of  Medora,  he  tied  him  hand  and  foot  to  the  sage- 
brush. The  cook  struggled  twelve  hours  in  the  broiling  sun  before  he 
could  free  himself.  Tradition  has  it  that  he  did  not  touch  another 
drop  of  liquor  for  three  years 


XIII 

Oh,  we're  up  in  the  morning  ere  breaking  of  day, 

The  chuck-wagon's  busy,  the  flapjacks  in  play; 
The  herd  is  astir  o'er  hillside  and  vale, 
With  the  night  riders  rounding  them  into  the  trail. 

Oh,  come  take  up  your  cinches,  come  shake  out  your  reins; 
Come,  wake  your  old  bronco  and  break  for  the  plains; 

Come,  roust  out  your  steers  from  the  long  chaparral, 

For  the  outfit  is  off  to  the  railroad  corral. 

The  Railroad  Corral 

Roosevelt  returned  to  the  Bad  Lands  on  the  i6th 
of  November  and  was  greeted  with  enthusiasm  by 
Merrifield  and  Sylvane.  The  next  day  he  started 
for  the  new  ranch.  He  had  intended  to  get  under 
way  by  noon,  but  Sylvane  and  Merrifield  wanted 
to  drive  a  small  beef  herd,  which  they  were  shipping 
to  Chicago,  to  the  shipping  corrals  near  the  Can- 
tonment, and  it  was  mid-afternoon  before  he  was 
able  to  put  spurs  to  his  smart  little  cowpony  and 
start  on  the  long  ride  to  Elkhorn.  The  day  was 
bitterly  cold,  with  the  mercury  well  down  toward 
zero,  and  the  pony,  fresh  and  impatient,  went 
along  at  a  good  rate.  Roosevelt  had  not  gone  many 
miles  before  he  became  conscious  that  darkness  was 
falling.  The  trail  followed  along  the  bottom  for  a 
half-dozen  miles  and  then  turned  off  into  the  bad 
lands,  leading  up  and  down  through  the  ravines 
and  over  the  ridge  crests  of  a  rough  and  broken 
country.  He  crossed  a  wide  plateau  where  the 
wind  blew  savagely,  sweeping  the  powdery  snow 
into  his  face,   then  dipped  again  into  the  valley 


2i6       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

where  the  trail  led  along  the  bottoms  between  the 
rows  of  high  bluffs,  continually  crossing  and  re- 
crossing  the  river.  The  ice  was  too  thin  to  bear 
the  horse,  for  the  cold  had  come  suddenly  and  had 
not  yet  frozen  it  solid,  and  again  and  again,  as  the 
pony  cautiously  advanced,  the  white  surface  would 
suddenly  break  and  let  horse  and  rider  down  into 
the  chilling  water. 

Roosevelt  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he  could 
under  no  circumstances  reach  the  new  ranch  that 
night  and  had  determined  to  spend  the  night  with 
Robins,  the  seafaring  man,  whose  hut  was  three  or 
four  miles  nearer.  But  the  sun  set  while  he  was  still 
several  miles  from  his  goal,  and  the  darkness,  which 
had  been  closing  round  him  where  he  rode  in  the 
narrow  valley,  crept  over  the  tops  of  the  high 
bluffs  and  shut  out  from  his  vision  everything  but 
a  dim  track  in  the  snow  faintly  illuminated  by  the 
stars.  Roosevelt  hurried  his  pony.  Clouds  were 
gathering  overhead,  and  soon,  Roosevelt  knew, 
even  the  light  that  the  stars  gave  would  be  with- 
drawn. The  night  was  very  cold  and  the  silence 
was  profound.  A  light  snow  rendered  even  the 
hoof-beats  of  his  horse  mufffed  and  indistinct,  and 
the  only  sound  that  came  out  of  the  black  world 
about  him  was  the  long-drawn,  melancholy  howling 
of  a  wolf. 

Captain  Robins's  shack  stood  in  the  midst  of  a 
large  clump  of  cottonwoods  thickly  grown  up  with 
underbrush.  It  was  hard  enough  to  find  in  the 
day-time,  but  in  the  darkness  of  that  wintry  night 


BLEAK  CAMPING  217 

it  proved  tantalizingly  elusive.  There  was  no  light 
in  it  to  guide  him,  which  depressed  him. 

He  found  the  cabin  at  last,  but  it  was  empty  and 
chill.  He  lit  a  fire  and  hunted  about  among  the 
stores  of  the  old  seafaring  man  for  something  of 
which  to  make  supper.  The  place  was  stripped 
bare.  He  went  down  to  the  river  with  an  axe  and 
a  pail  and  brought  up  some  water;  in  his  pocket 
he  had  a  paper  of  tea.  It  was  not  an  altogether 
satisfying  supper  for  a  tired  and  hungry  man. 

He  was  out  with  his  rifle  at  break  of  day.  Outside 
the  hut  the  prairie  fowl  were  crowing  and  calling 
to  one  another  in  the  tall  trees,  evidently  attracted 
by  the  thick  growth  of  choke-cherries  and  wild 
plums.  As  the  dawn  deepened,  the  sharp-tails 
began  to  fly  down  from  their  roosts  to  the  berry 
bushes.  Up  among  the  bare  limbs  of  the  trees, 
sharply  outlined  against  the  sky,  they  offered  as 
good  a  target  as  any  hungry  man  might  ask.  He 
shot  off  the  necks  of  five  in  succession,  and  it  was 
not  long  before  two  of  the  birds,  plucked  and 
cleaned,  were  split  open  and  roasting  before  the  fire. 

He  found  that  Sewall  and  Dow  had  cut  all  the 
timber  for  the  house,  and  were  beginning  work  on 
the  walls.  It  was  a  roomy  place  they  were  build- 
ing, a  palace  as  houses  went  in  the  Bad  Lands. 
Roosevelt  worked  with  them  for  two  days.  Both 
men  were  excellent  company,  Dow  a  delightful 
spinner  of  yarns,  witty  and  imaginative,  Sewall  full 
of  horse  sense  and  quiet  philosophizing.  Roosevelt 
himself  was  much  depressed.  His  virtual  elimination 


2i8       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

from  politics,  together  with  the  tragic  breaking-up 
of  his  home  life,  had  left  him  for  the  moment  aim- 
less and  without  ambition.  There  is  a  wistful  note 
in  a  letter  he  wrote,  that  week  to  Lodge.  "  The 
statesman  (?)  of  the  past  has  been  merged,  alas,  I 
fear  for  good,  in  the  cowboy  of  the  present."  He 
was  not  in  the  habit  of  talking  of  himself  or  of  asking 
others  to  share  his  negations;  but  there  was  some- 
thing avuncular  about  Sewall  that  impelled  confi- 
dences. He  told  the  backwoodsman  that  he  did 
not  care  what  became  of  himself;  he  had  nothing 
to  live  for,  he  said.  Sewall  "  went  for  him  bow- 
legged,"  as  he  himself  described  it  in  later  years. 

"  You  ought  not  to  allow  yourself  to  feel  that 
way,"  he  insisted.  "  You  have  your  child  to  live 
for." 

"  Her  aunt  can  take  care  of  her  a  good  deal  better 
than  I  can,"  Roosevelt  responded.  "  She  never 
would  know  anything  about  me,  anyway.  She 
would  he  just  as  well  off  without  me." 

"  You  won't  always  feel  that  way,"  said  Sewall. 
"  You  will  get  over  this  after  a  while.  I  know  how 
such  things  are;  but  time  heals  them  over.  You 
won't  always  feel  as  you  do  now,  and  you  won't 
always  be  willing  to  stay  here  and  drive  cattle, 
because,  when  you  get  to  feeling  differently,  you 
will  want  to  get  back  among  your  friends  where 
you  can  do  more  and  be  more  benefit  to  the  world 
than  you  can  driving  cattle.  If  you  can't  think  of 
anything  else  to  do,  you  can  go  home  and  start  a 
reform.   You  would  make  a  good  reformer.  You 


.ROOSEVELT  STARTS  A  REFORM       219 

always  want  to  make  things  better  instead  of 
worse." 

Roosevelt  laughed  at  that,  and  said  no  more 
concerning  the  uselessness  of  his  existence.  An 
amusing  angle  of  the  whole  matter  was  that  "  start- 
ing a  reform  "  was  actually  in  the  back  of  his  head 
at  the  time. 

The  reform  in  question  was  fundamental.  It 
concerned  the  creation  of  an  organization,  osten- 
sibly, in  the  absence  of  constituted  government,  for 
the  purpose  of  making  and  enforcing  certain  sorely 
needed  laws  for  the  regulation  of  the  cattle  industry; 
but  actually  with  the  higher  aim  in  view  of  furnish- 
ing a  rallying  point  for  the  scattered  forces  of  law 
and  order.  Montana  had  such  an  organization  in 
the  Montana  Live  Stock  Association  and  more  than 
one  ranchman  with  large  interests  in  the  valley  of 
the  Little  Missouri  had  appealed  to  that  body  for 
help.  But  the  Montana  Association  found  that  it 
had  no  authority  in  Dakota.  Roosevelt  determined, 
therefore,  to  form  a  separate  organization. 

The  need  unquestionably  was  great.  To  an  un- 
usual extent  the  cattle  industry  depended  upon 
cooperation.  Each  ranchman  "  claimed  "  a  certain 
range,  but  no  mark  showed  the  boundaries  of  that 
range  and  no  fence  held  the  cattle  and  horses  within 
it.  On  every  "  claim  "  the  brands  of  twenty  dif- 
ferent herds  might  have  been  found.  No  ranchman 
by  himself,  or  with  the  aid  only  of  his  own  em- 
ployees, would  ever  have  been  able  to  collect  his 
widely   scattered   property.   It  was   only   by   the 


220       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

cooperative  effort  known  as  "  the  round-up  "  that 
it  was  possible  once  or  twice  a  year  for  every  man 
to  gather  his  own.  The  very  persistence  of  the 
range  as  a  feeding-ground  and  the  vitaHty  and  very 
life  of  the  cattle  depended  upon  the  honest  coopera- 
tion of  the  stock-owners.  If  one  man  overstocked 
his  range,  it  was  not  only  his  cattle  which  suffered, 
but  in  an  equal  measure  the  cattle  of  every  other 
ranchman  along  the  river. 

Regulating  this  industry,  which  depended  so 
largely  on  a  self-interest  looking  beyond  the  im- 
mediate gain,  was  a  body  of  tradition  brought  from 
the  cattle  ranges  of  the  South,  but  no  code  of 
regulations.  There  were  certain  unwritten  laws 
which  you  were  supposed  to  obey;  but  if  you  were 
personally  formidable  and  your  "  outfit "  was  im- 
pressive, there  was  nothing  in  heaven  or  earth  to 
force  you  to  obey  them.  It  was  comparatively 
simple,  moreover,  to  conduct  a  private  round-up 
and  ship  to  Chicago  cattle  whose  brands  were  not 
your  own.  If  ever  an  industry  needed  "regulation" 
for  the  benefit  of  the  honest  men  engaged  in  it,  it 
was  the  cattle  industry  in  Dakota  in  1884. 

But  the  need  of  a  law  of  the  range  which  the 
stockmen  would  respect,  because  it  was  to  their 
own  interests  to  respect  it,  was  only  a  phase  of  a 
greater  need  for  the  presence  in  that  wild  and 
sparsely  settled  country  of  some  sort  of  authority 
which  men  would  recognize  and  accept  because  it 
was  an  outgrowth  of  the  life  of  which  they  were 
a  part.  Sheriffs  and  marshals  were  imposed  from 


THE  DEPUTY  MARSHAL  221 

without,  and  an  independent  person  might  have 
argued  that  in  a  territory  under  a  Federal  gov- 
ernor, they  constituted  government  without  the 
consent  of  the  governed.  Such  a  person  would  look 
with  entirely  different  eyes  on  a  body  created  from 
among  the  men  with  whom  he  was  in  daily  asso- 
ciation. 

Medora  was  blest  with  a  deputy  United  States 
Marshal,  and  much  good  did  law  and  order  derive 
from  his  presence.  He  happened  to  be  the  same 
Joe  Morrill  who  had  gained  notoriety  the  preceding 
winter  in  the  StonevIUe  fight,  and  who  had  long  been 
suspected,  by  law-abiding  folk  between  Medora  and 
the  Black  Hills,  of  being  "  in  cahoots  "  with  every- 
thing that  was  sinister  in  the  region.  He  had  for 
years  been  stationed  at  Deadwood  for  the  purpose 
mainly  of  running  down  deserting  soldiers,  and  one 
of  the  rumors  that  followed  him  to  Medora  was  to 
the  effect  that  he  had  made  himself  the  confidant 
of  deserters  only  to  betray  them  for  thirty  dollars 
a  head.  The  figure  was  unfortunate.  It  stuck  in 
the  memory  with  Its  echoes  of  Judas. 

The  law-abiding  element  did  not  receive  any 
noticeable  support  from  Joe  Morrill.  He  was  a 
"  gun-toting  "  swashbuckler,  not  of  the  "  bad  man  " 
type  at  all,  but,  as  Packard  pointed  out,  altogether 
too  noisy  in  denouncing  the  wicked  when  they 
were  not  present  and  too  effusive  In  greeting  them 
when  they  were.  He  gravitated  naturally  toward 
Maunders  and  Bill  Williams  and  Jess  Hogue,  and 
if  law  and  order  derived  any  benefits  from  that 


222       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

association,  history  has  neglected  to  record  them. 
Thievery  went  on  as  before. 

Roosevelt,  no  doubt,  realized  that  the  hope  of  the 
righteous  lay  not  in  Joe  Morrill  or  in  any  other 
individual  whom  the  Federal  authorities  might  im- 
pose on  the  Bad  Lands,  but  only  in  an  organization 
which  was  the  expression  of  a  real  desire  for  co- 
operation. He  set  about  promptly  to  form  such  an 
organization. 

After  two  days  of  house-building  at  Elkhorn, 
Roosevelt,  who  was  evidently  restless,  was  again 
under  way,  riding  south  through  a  snowstorm  all 
day  to  the  Maltese  Cross,  bringing  Sewall  and  Dow 
with  him. 

It  was  late  at  night  when  we  reached  Merrlfi eld's  [he 
wrote  "  Bamie  "  on  November  23d],  and  the  thermom- 
eter was  twenty  degrees  below  zero.  As  you  may  imag- 
ine, my  fur  coat  and  buffalo  bag  have  come  in  very 
handily. 

I  am  now  trying  to  get  up  a  stockman's  association, 
and  in  a  day  or  two,  unless  the  weather  is  too  bad,  I 
shall  start  up  the  river  with  Sewall  to  see  about  it. 

At  one  ranch  after  another,  Roosevelt,  riding 
south  through  the  biting  cold  with  his  philosophic 
backwoodsman,  stopped  during  the  week  that  fol- 
lowed, to  persuade  fifteen  or  twenty  stockmen  along 
the  valley  of  the  Little  Missouri  of  the  benefits  of 
cooperation.  It  was  an  arduous  journey,  taking 
him  well  south  of  Lang's;  but  it  was  evidently 
successful. 

Theodore  Roosevelt,  who  used  to  was  a  great  reformer 


WINTER  ACTIVITIES  223 

in  the  New  York  Legislature,  but  who  is  now  a  cowboy, 
pure  and  simple  [remarked  the  Bismarck  Wceldy  Tribune 
in  an  editorial  on  December  12th],  calls  a  meeting  of  the 
stockmen  of  the  \\  est  Dakota  region  to  meet  at  Medora, 
December  19th,  to  discuss  topics  of  interest,  become  bet- 
ter acquainted,  and  provide  for  a  more  cfhcient  organ- 
ization.  Mr.  Roosevelt  likes  the  \\  est. 

Winter  now  settled  down  on  the  Bad  Lands  in 
earnest.  There  was  little  snow,  but  the  cold  was 
fierce  in  its  intensity.  By  day,  the  plains  and  buttes 
were  dazzling  to  the  eye  under  the  clear  weather; 
b}^  night,  the  trees  cracked  and  groaned  from  the 
strain  of  the  biting  frost.  Even  the  stars  seemed 
to  snap  and  glitter.  The  river  lay  fixed  in  its  shining 
bed  of  glistening  white,  "  like  a  huge  bent  bar  of 
blue  steel."  \A'olves  and  lynxes  traveled  up  and 
down  it  at  night  as  though  it  were  a  highway. 

Winter  was  the  ranchman's  "slack  season"; 
but  Roosevelt  found,  nevertheless,  that  there  was 
work  to  be  done  e\"en  at  that  time  of  year  to  test 
a  man's  fiber.  Activities,  which  in  the  ordinary 
Eastern  winter  w^ould  have  been  merely  the  casual 
incidents  of  the  day's  w^ork,  took  on  some  of  the 
character  of  Arctic  exploration  in  a  country  w^here 
the  thermometer  had  a  way  of  going  fifty  degrees 
below  zero,  and  for  two  weeks  on  end  never  rose 
above  a  point  of  ten  below\  It  was  not  always 
altogether  pleasant  to  be  out  of  doors;  but  wood 
had  to  be  chopped,  and  coal  had  to  be  brought  in 
by  the  wagon-load.  Roosevelt  had  a  mine  on  his 
own  ranch  some  three  or  four  miles  south  of  Chimney 


224       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Butte.  It  was  a  vein  of  soft  lignite  laid  bare  'in 
the  side  of  a  clay  bluff  by  the  corrosive  action  of 
the  water,  carving,  through  the  centuries,  the  bed  of 
the  Little  Missouri.  He  and  his  men  brought  the 
coal  in  the  ranch-wagon  over  the  frozen  bed  of  the 
river.  The  wheels  of  the  wagon  creaked  and  sang 
in  the  bitter  cold,  as  they  ground  through  the 
powdery  snow. 

The  cattle,  moreover,  had  to  be  carefully  watched, 
for  many  of  them  were  slow  in  learning  to  "  rustle 
for  themselves,"  as  the  phrase  went.  A  part  of 
every  day  at  least  was  spent  in  the  saddle  by  one 
or  the  other  or  all  of  the  men  who  constituted  the 
Chimney  Butte  outfit.  In  spite  of  their  great  fur 
coats  and  caps  and  gauntlets,  in  spite  of  heavy 
underclothing  and  flannel-lined  boots,  it  was  not 
often  that  one  or  the  other  of  them,  returning  from 
a  ride,  did  not  have  a  touch  of  the  frost  somewhere 
about  him.  When  the  wind  was  at  his  back, 
Roosevelt  found  it  was  not  bad  to  gallop  alo(ng 
through  the  white  weather,  but  when  he  had  to 
face  it,  riding  over  a  plain  or  a  plateau,  it  was  a 
different  matter,  for  the  blast  cut  through  him  like 
a  keen  knife,  and  the  thickest  furs  seemed  only  so 
much  paper.  The  cattle  were  obviously  unhappy, 
standing  humped  up  under  the  bushes,  except  for 
an  hour  or  two  at  midday  when  they  ventured  out 
to  feed.  A  very  weak  animal  "they  would  bring  into 
the  cow-shed  ^and  feed  with  hay ;  but  they  did  this 
only  in  cases  of  the  direst  necessity,  as  such  an 
animal  had  then  to  be  fed  for  the  rest  of  the  winter. 


BREAKING  BRONCOS  225 

and  the  quantity  of  hay  was  limited.  As  long  as 
the  cattle  could  be  held  within  the  narrow  strip  of 
Bad  Lands,  they  were  safe  enough,  for  the  deep 
ravines  afforded  them  ample  refuge  from  the  icy 
gales.  But  if  by  any  accident  a  herd  was  caught  by 
a  blizzard  on  the  open  prairie,  it  might  drift  before 
it  a  hundred  miles. 

Soon  after  Roosevelt's  return  from  the  East,  he 
had  sent  Sylvane  Ferris  to  Spearfish  to  purchase 
some  horses  for  the  ranch.  About  the  first  week  in 
December  his  genial  foreman  returned,  bringing 
fifty- two  head.  They  were  wild,  unbroken  "  cay- 
uses,"  and  had  to  be  broken  then  and  there.  Day 
after  da>',  in  the  icy  cold,  Roosevelt  labored  with 
the  men  in  the  corral  over  the  refractory  animals 
making  up  in  patience  what  he  lacked  in  physical 
address. 

Bill  Sewall,  w^ho  with  Dow  was  on  hand  to  drive 
a  number  of  the  ponies  north  to  Elkhorn  Ranch,  did 
not  feel  under  the  same  compulsion  as  "  the  boss  " 
to  risk  his  neck  in  the  subjugation  of  the  frantic 
animals.  Will  Dow  had  become  an  excellent  horse- 
man, but  Sewall  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
you  could  not  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks,  and  re- 
fused to  be  bulldozed  into  attempting  what  he 
knew  he  could  not  accomplish.  There  was  some- 
thing impressive  in  the  firmness  with  which  he 
refused  to  allow  the  cowboys  to  make  him  look 
foolish. 

The  night  the  horses  arrived,  Sewall  overheard  a 
number  of   the  cowboys  remark  that  they  would 


226       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

get  the  men  from  Maine  "  on  those  wild  horses 
and  have  some  fun  with  them."  "  I  was  fore- 
warned," said  Sewall,  years  after,  telHng  about  it, 
"  and  so  I  was  forearmed." 

One  of  the  men  came  up  to  Sewall,  and  with 
malice  aforethought  led  the  subject  to  Sewall's 
participation  in  the  breaking  of  the  horses. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  ride  any  of  those  horses," 
said  Sewall. 

"  You  will  have  to,"  said  the  cowboy. 

"  I  don't  know  so  much  about  that." 

''  If  you  don't,"  remarked  the  cowboy,  "  you 
will  have  the  contempt  of  everybody." 

"  That  won't  affect  me  very  much,"  Sewall 
answered  quietly.  "If  I  were  younger,  it  might, 
but  it  won't  now." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  the  other  lightly,  "  you  will 
have  to  ride  them." 

"  No,"  remarked  Sewall,  "  I  didn't  come  out  here 
to  make  a  fool  of  myself  trying  to  do  what  I  know 
I  can't  do.  I  don't  want  to  be  pounded  on  the 
frozen  ground." 

The  cowboy  made  a  sharp  reply,  but  Sewall, 
feeling  his  blood  rise  to  his  head,  became  only  more 
firm  in  refusing  to  be  bulldozed. 

"  I  suppose  you  fellows  can  ride  broncos,"  he 
said,  "  but  you  cannot  ride  me,  and  if  you  get  on, 
your  feet  will  drag." 

There  the  conversation  ended.  The  next  morning 
Sewall  heard  the  cowboy  remark,  not  too  pleas- 
antly, "  I  suppose  it  is  no  use  to  saddle  any  bad 


A  TENDERFOOT  HOLDS  HIS  OWN      227 

ones  for  Sewall,  for  he  said  he  wouldn't  ride  them." 
Sewall  paid  no  attention  to  the  thrust.  The 
whole  affair  had  a  comic  conclusion,  for  it  happened 
that,  quite  by  accident,  Sewall,  in  attempting  to 
pick  out  a  gentle  horse,  picked  one  who  ultimately 
proved  to  be  one  of  the  worst  in  the  herd.  For 
all  the  time  that  Sewall  was  on  his  back,  he  acted 
like  a  model  of  the  virtues.  It  was  only  when  Dow 
subsequently  mounted  him  that  he  began  to  reveal 
his  true  character,  bucking  Dow  within  an  inch  of 
his  life.  The  cowboy,  however,  made  no  more  ef- 
forts at  intimidation. 

To  Roosevelt  —  to  whom  difFculty  and  peril 
were  always  a  challenge,  and  pain  itself  was  a  vis- 
itant to  be  wrestled  with  and  never  released  un- 
til a  blessing  had  been  wrung  from  the  mysterious 
lips  —  the  hardships  and  exertions  of  those  wintry 
day  were  a  source  of  boyish  delight.  It  partook 
of  the  nature  of  adventure  to  rise  at  five  (three 
hours  ahead  of  the  sun)  and  ride  under  the  starlight 
to  bring  in  the  saddle-band;  and  it  gave  a  sense  of 
quiet  satisfaction  to  manly  pride  later  to  crowd 
around  the  fire  where  the  cowboys  were  stamping 
and  beating  their  numbed  hands  together  and  know 
that  you  had  borne  yourself  as  well  as  they.  After 
a  day  of  bronco-busting  in  the  corral,  or  of  riding 
hour  after  hour,  head  on  into  the  driven  snow-dust, 
there  was  a  sense  of  real  achievement  when  night 
fell,  and  a  consciousness  of  strength.  The  cabin 
was  sm^all,  but  it  was  storm-proof  and  homelike, 
and  the  men  with  w^hom  Roosevelt  shared  it  were 


228       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

brave  and  true  and  full  of  humor  and  good  yams. 
They  played  checkers  and  chess  and  "  casino  "  and 
"  Old  Sledge  "  through  the  long  evenings,  and  read 
everything  in  type  that  came  under  their  hands. 
Roosevelt  was  not  the  only  one,  it  seemed,  who 
enjoyed  solid  literature. 

Did  I  tell  you  about  my  cowboys  reading  and  in 
large  part  comprehending,  your  "  Studies  in  Litera- 
ture "  ?  [Roosevelt  wrote  to  Lodge].  My  foreman 
handed  the  book  back  to  me  to-day,  after  reading  the 
"  Puritan  Pepys,"  remarking  meditatively,  and  with, 
certainly,  very  great  justice,  that  early  Puritanism 
"  must  have  been  darned  rough  on  the  kids."  He 
evidently  sympathized  keenly  with  the  feelings  of  the 
poor  little  "  examples  of  original  sin." 

Roosevelt  spent  all  his  time  at  the  Maltese  Cross 
and  went  to  Medora  only  for  his  mail.  The  quiet 
of  winter  had  descended  upon  the  wild  little  town. 
The  abattoir  was  closed  for  the  season,  the  butchers 
(who  did  their  part  in  enlivening  the  neighborhood) 
had  gone  East,  the  squad  of  carpenters  was  silent. 
There  was  nothing  for  anybody  to  do  except  to 
drink,  which  the  citizens  of  Medora  did  to  the 
satisfaction  of  even  the  saloon-keepers. 

Roosevelt  had  planned  all  the  autumn  to  go  on 
a  hunting  trip  with  Merrifield  after  mountain  sheep, 
but  his  departure  had  been  delayed  by  Sylvane's 
return  with  the  horses,  and  the  need  for  all  hands 
in  the  "outfit"  in  the  arduous  undertaking  of  pre- 
paring their  free  spirits  for  the  obligations  of  civili- 
zation. It  was  well  toward  the  middle  of  December 


WILD  COUNTRY  229 

before  they  were  able  to  make  a  start.  Roosevelt 
sent  George  Myers  ahead  with  the  buckboard  and 
himself  followed  on  horseback  with  Merrifield.  It 
was  a  savage  piece  of  country  through  which 
their  course  took  them. 

There  were  tracts  of  varying  size  [Roosevelt  wrote 
later  describing  that  trip],  each  covered  with  a  tangled 
mass  of  chains  and  peaks,  the  buttes  in  places  reaching 
a  height  that  would  in  the  East  entitle  them  to  be  called 
mountains.  Every  such  tract  was  riven  in  all  directions 
by  deep  chasms  and  narrow  ravines,  whose  sides  some- 
times rolled  off  in  gentle  slopes,  but  far  more  often  rose 
as  sheer  cliffs,  with  narrow  ledges  along  their  fronts. 
A  sparse  growth  of  grass  covered  certain  portions  of 
these  lands,  and  on  some  of  the  steep  hillsides,  or  in 
the  canyons,  were  scanty  groves  of  coniferous  evergreens, 
so  stunted  by  the  thin  soil  and  bleak  weather  that  many 
of  them  were  bushes  rather  than  trees.  Most  of  the 
peaks  and  ridges,  and  many  of  the  valleys,  were  entirely 
bare  of  vegetation,  and  these  had  been  cut  by  wind  and 
water  into  the  strangest  and  most  fantastic  shapes. 
Indeed,  it  is  difficult,  in  looking  at  such  formations,  to 
get  rid  of  the  feeling  that  their  curiously  twisted  and 
contorted  forms  are  due  to  some  vast  volcanic  upheavals 
or  other  subterranean  forces;  yet  they  are  merely 
caused  by  the  action  of  the  various  weathering  forces 
of  the  dry  climate  on  the  different  strata  of  sandstones, 
clays,  and  marls.  Isolated  columns  shoot  up  into  the 
air,  bearing  on  their  summits  flat  rocks  like  tables; 
square  buttes  tower  high  above  surrounding  depressions, 
which  are  so  cut  up  by  twisting  gullies  and  low  ridges 
as  to  be  almost  impassable ;  shelving  masses  of  sandstone 
jut  out  over  the  sides  of  the  cliffs;  some  of  the  ridges, 
with  perfectly  perpendicular  sides,  are  so  worn  away 
that   they   stand   up   like   gigantic   knife-blades;    and 


230       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

gulches,  wash-outs,  and  canyons  dig  out  the  sides  of 
each  butte,  while  between  them  are  thrust  out  long 
spurs,  with  sharp,  ragged  tops. 

They  hunted  through  the  broken  country  on 
foot.  Up  the  slippery,  ice-covered  buttes  they 
climbed,  working  their  w^ay  across  the  faces  of  the 
cliffs  or  cautiously  groping  along  narrow  ledges, 
peering  long  and  carefully  over  every  crest.  But 
they  found  no  sheep.  The  cold  was  intense  and  they 
were  glad  when,  at  sunset,  they  reached  the  cabin, 
which  was  to  be  their  headquarters.  George  Myers 
had  already  arrived. 

It  was  a  bitter  night,  and  through  the  chinks  of 
the  crazy  old  hut  it  invaded  their  shelter,  defying 
any  fire  which  they  could  build. 

By  the  time  the  first  streak  of  dawn  had  dimmed 
the  brilliancy  of  the  stars,  the  hunters  were  under 
way.  Their  horses  had  proved  a  bother  the  day 
before,  and  they  were  afoot,  striding  briskly  through 
the  bitter  cold  to  where  the  great  bulk  of  Middle 
Butte  loomed  against  the  sunrise.  They  hunted 
carefully  through  the  outlying  foothills  and  toiled 
laboriously  up  the  steep  sides  to  the  level  top.  It 
was  a  difificult  piece  of  mountaineering,  for  the  edges 
of  the  cliffs  had  become  round  and  slippery  with 
the  ice,  and  it  was  no  easy  task  to  move  up  and 
along  them,  clutching  the  gun  in  one  hand  and 
grasping  each  little  projection  with  the  other. 
That  day  again  they  found  no  sheep. 

Hour  by  hour  the  cold  grew  more  intense.  All 
signs  indicated  a  blizzard. 


MOUNTAIN  SHEEP  231 

The  air  was  thick  and  hazy  as  Roosevelt  and 
Merrifield  early  next  morning  reached  the  distant 
hills  where  they  intended  that  day  to  make  their 
hunt.  Off  in  the  northwest  a  towering  mass  of 
grayish-white  clouds  hung,  threatening  trouble. 
The  region  was,  if  anything,  even  wilder  and  more 
difficult  than  the  country  they  had  hunted  through 
on  the  two  previous  days.  The  ice  made  the  footing 
perilous,  and  in  the  cold  thin  air  every  quick  burst 
they  made  up  a  steep  hill  caused  them  to  pant  for 
breath.  But  they  were  not  unrewarded.  Crawling 
cautiously  over  a  sharp  ledge  they  came  suddenly 
upon  two  mountain  rams  not  a  hundred  yards  away. 
Roosevelt  dropped  on  his  knee,  raising  his  rifle.  At 
the  report,  the  largest  of  the  rams  staggered  and 
pitched  forward,  but  recovered  himself  and  dis- 
appeared over  another  ridge.  The  hunters  jumped 
and  slid  down  into  a  ravine,  clambering  up  the 
opposite  side  as  fast  as  their  lungs  and  the  slippery 
ice  would  let  them.  They  had  not  far  to  go.  Two 
hundred  yards  beyond  the  ridge  they  found  their 
quarry,  dead.     They  took  the  head  for  a  trophy. 

It  \vas  still  early  in  the  day,  and  Roosevelt  and 
Merrifield  made  up  their  minds  to  push  for  home. 
The  lowering  sky  was  already  overcast  by  a  mass 
of  leaden-gray  clouds;  they  had  no  time  to  lose. 
They  hurried  back  to  the  cabin,  packed  up  their 
bedding  and  provisions,  and  started  northward. 
Roosevelt  rode  ahead  with  Merrifield,  not  sparing 
the  horses;  but  before  they  had  reached  the  ranch- 
house  the  storm  had  burst,  and  a  furious  blizzard 


232       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

was  blowing  in  their  teeth  as  they  galloped  along 
the  last  mile  of  the  river  bottom. 

George  Myers  celebrated  the  successful  conclu- 
sion of  the  hunt  in  his  own  fashion.  In  one  of  his 
unaccountable  culinary  lapses,  he  baked  the  beans 
that  night  in  rosin.  With  the  first  mouthful  Roose- 
velt dropped  his  knife  and  fork  and  made  for  the 
door. 

"  George,"  he  remarked  as  he  returned  to  the 
table  with  his  eye  fixed  on  the  offender,  "  I  can  eat 
green  biscuits  and  most  of  your  other  infernal 
concoctions,  but  I  am  hanged  if  I  can  eat  rosined 
beans." 

He  did  not  eat  them,  but  he  did  not  let  the 
memory  of  them  die  either,  to  George's  deep 
chagrin. 

I  have  just  returned  from  a  three  days'  trip  in  the 
Bad  Lands  after  mountain  sheep  [Roosevelt  wrote  to 
"  Bamie  "  on  December  14th],  and  after  tramping  over 
the  most  awful  country  that  can  be  imagined,  I  finally 
shot  one  ram  with  a  fine  head.  I  have  now  killed  every 
kind  of  plains  game. 

I  have  to  stay  here  till  after  next  Friday  to  attend  a 
meeting  of  the  Little  Missouri  Stockmen;  on  Saturday, 
December  20th,  I  start  home  and  shall  be  in  New  York 
the  evening  of  December  23d.  I  have  just  had  fifty- two 
horses  brought  in  by  Ferris,  and  Sewall  and  Dow  started 
down  the  river  with  their  share  yesterday.  The  latter 
have  lost  two  horses;  I  am  afraid  they  have  been  stolen. 

The  meeting  of  the  stockmen  was  held  In  Medora 
on  the  day  appointed,  and  it  is  notable  that  it  was 
Roosevelt  who  called  It  to  order  and  who  directed 


THE  STOCKMEN'S  ASSOCIATION        233 

its  deliberations.  He  was  one  of  the  youngest  of 
the  dozen  stockmen  present,  and  in  the  ways  of 
cattle  no  doubt  one  of  the  least  experienced.  Most 
of  the  men  he  greeted  that  day  had  probably  been 
discussing  the  problems  he  was  undertaking  to 
solve  long  before  he  himself  had  ever  heard  of  the 
Bad  Lands.  It  was  Roosevelt's  distinction  that 
having  observed  the  problems  he  determined  to 
solve  them,  and  having  made  this  determination  he 
sought  a  solution  in  the  principles  and  methods  of 
democratic  government.  The  stockmen  had  con- 
fidence in  him.  He  was  direct,  he  was  fearless;  he 
was  a  good  talker,  sure  of  his  ground,  and,  in  the 
language  of  the  Bad  Lands,  "  he  didn't  take  back- 
water from  any  one."  He  was  self-reliant  and  he 
minded  his  own  business;  he  was  honest  and  he  had 
no  axe  to  grind.  The  ranchmen  no  doubt  felt  that 
in  view  of  these  qualities  you  might  forget  a  man's 
youth  and  forgive  his  spectacles.  They  evidently 
did  both,  for,  after  adopting  a  resolution  that  it 
was  the  sense  of  the  meeting  "  that  an  Association 
of  the  Stockmen  along  the  Little  Missouri  and  its 
tributaries  be  forthwith  formed,"  they  promptly 
elected  Theodore  Roosevelt  chairman  of  it. 

Lurid  tales  have  been  told  of  what  went  on  at 
that  meeting.  There  is  a  dramatic  story  of  Joe 
Morrill's  sudden  appearance,  backed  by  a  score  of 
ruffians;  of  defiance  and  counter-defiance;  of  re- 
volvers and  "  blood  on  the  moonlight ";  and  of  a 
corrupt  deputy  marshal  cowering  with  ashen  face 
before  the  awful  denunciations  of  a  bespectacled 


234       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

"  tenderfoot  ";  but  unhappily,  the  authenticity  of 
the  story  is  dubious.  The  meeting,  so  far  as  the 
cold  eye  of  the  historian  can  discern,  was  dramatic 
only  in  its  implications  and  no  more  exciting  than  a 
sewing-circle.  The  Marquis  de  Mores  was  present; 
so  also  was  Gregor  Lang,  his  most  merciless  critic; 
but  whatever  drama  was  inherent  in  that  situa- 
tion remained  beneath  the  surface.  By-laws  were 
adopted,  the  Marquis  was  appointed  "  as  a  Com- 
mittee of  One  to  work  with  the  committee  appointed 
by  the  Eastern  Montana  Live  Stock  Association 
in  the  endeavor  to  procure  legislation  from  the 
Territorial  Legislature  of  Dakota  favorable  to  the 
interests  of  the  cattlemen  ";  and  the  meeting  was 
over.  It  was  all  most  amiable  and  commonplace. 
There  was  no  oratory  and  no  defiance  of  anybody. 
What  had  been  accomplished,  however,  was  that, 
in  the  absence  of  organized  government,  the  con- 
servative elements  in  the  county  had  formed  an 
offensive  and  defensive  league  for  mutual  protec- 
tion, as  the  by-laws  ran,  "  against  frauds  and 
swindlers,  and  to  prevent  the  stealing,  taking,  and 
driving  away  of  horned  cattle,  sheep,  horses,  and 
other  stock  from  the  rightful  owners  thereof." 

It  meant  the  beginning  of  the  end  of  lawlessness 
in  the  Bad  Lands. 


XIV 

I  'II  never  come  North  again. 

My  home  is  the  sunny  South, 
Where  it's  never  mo'  than  forty  below 

An'  the  beans  don't  freeze  in  your  mouth; 
An'  the  snow  ain't   like  white  smoke, 

An'  the  ground  ain't  like  while  iron; 
An'  the  wind  don't  stray  from   Baffin's   Bay 

To  join  you  on  retirin'. 

From  Medora  Nights 

Roosevelt  arrived  in  New  York  a  day  or  two  before 
Christmas  with  the  trophies  of  his  hunt  about  him 
and  his  hunting  costume  in  his  "  grip."  He  settled 
down  at  his  sister's  house,  at  422  Madison  Avenue, 
where  his  Httle  girl  Alice  was  living,  and,  with  his 
characteristic  energy  in  utilizing  every  experience  to 
the  full,  promptly  began  work  on  a  series  of  hunt- 
ing sketches  which  should  combine  the  thrill  of  ad- 
venture with  the  precise  observation  of  scientific 
natural  histor>^  It  is  w^orth  noting  that,  in  order 
to  provide  a  frontispiece  for  his  work,  he  solemnly 
dressed  himself  up  in  the  buckskin  shirt  and  the 
rest  of  the  elaborate  costume  he  had  described  with 
such  obvious  delight  to  his  sister;  and  had  himself 
photographed.  There  is  something  hilariously  funny 
in  the  visible  records  of  that  performance.  The 
imitation  grass,  not  quite  concealing  the  rug  be- 
neath, the  painted  background,  the  theatrical 
(slightly  patched)  rocks  against  which  the  cowboy 
leans  gazing  dreamily  across  an  imaginary  prairie, 
the  pose  of  the  hunter  with  rifle  ready  and  finger 


236       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

on  the  trigger,  grimly  facing  dangerous  game  which 
is  not  there  —  all  reveal  a  boyish  delight  in  play- 
acting. For  once  his  sense  of  humor  was  in  abey- 
ance, but  posterity  is  the  richer  for  this  glimpse 
of  the  solemn  boy  in  the  heart  of  a  powerful  man. 
Winter  closed  over  the  Bad  Lands,  bringing 
Arctic  hardships.  Even  Bill  Sewall,  who  had  been 
born  and  bred  in  the  Maine  woods,  declared  that 
he  had  never  known  such  cold.  There  was  a  theory, 
fostered  by  the  real  estate  agents,  that  you  did  not 
feel  the  cold  which  the  thermometer  registered; 
and  the  Marquis,  who  never  missed  an  opportun- 
ity to  "  boom  "  his  new  town  in  the  newspapers, 
insisted  stoutly  not  only  that  he  habitually  "  walked 
and  rode  about  comfortably  without  an  overcoat  "; 
but  also  that  he  "  felt  the  cold  much  more  severely 
in  New  York,  and  in  Washington  even."  Other 
landowners  maintained  the  same  delusion,  and  it 
was  considered  almost  treason  to  speak  of  the 
tragedies  of  the  cold.  The  fact  remained,  however, 
that  a  snowfall,  which  elsewhere  might  scarcely 
make  good  sleighing,  in  the  Bad  Lands  became  a 
foe  to  human  life  of  inconceivable  fury.  For  with 
it  generally  came  a  wind  so  fierce  that  the  stoutest 
wayfarer  could  make  no  progress  against  it.  The 
small,  dry  flakes,  driven  vertically  before  it,  cut 
the  flesh  like  a  razor,  blinding  the  vision  and  sti- 
fling the  breath  and  shutting  out  the  world  with 
an  impenetrable  icy  curtain.  A  half-hour  after  the 
storm  had  broken,  the  traveler,  lost  in  it,  might 
wonder  whether  there  were  one  foot  of  snow  or 


THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 
(1884) 


WINTER  MISERY  237 

five,  and  whether  the  greater  part  of  it  were  on  the 
ground  or  whirHng  about  him  in  the  air.  With  the 
snow  came  extreme  cold  that  pierced  thej  thickest 
garments. 

The  horses,  running  free  on  the  range,  seemed  to 
feel  the  cold  comparatively  little,  eating  the  snow 
for  water,  and  pawing  through  it  to  the  stem- 
cured  prairie-grass  for  food.  But  the  cattle  suffered 
intensely,  especially  the  Southern  stock  which  had 
not  yet  learnt  that  they  must  eat  their  way  through 
the  snow  to  the  sustenance  beneath.  They  stood 
huddled  together  at  every  wind-break,  and  in  the 
first  biting  storm  of  the  new  year  even  sought  the 
shelter  of  the  towns,  taking  possession  of  the  streets. 
The  cows,  curiously  enough,  seemed  to  bear  the 
hardship  better  than  the  bulls.  The  male,  left  to 
his  own  resources,  had  a  tendency  to  "  give  up  " 
and  creep  into  the  brush  and  die,  while  the  females, 
reduced  to  skin  and  bones,  struggled  on,  gnawing 
at  the  frozen  stumps  of  sagebrush,  battling  to  the 
last. 

Western  newspapers,  "  booming  "  the  cattle  busi- 
ness, insisted  that  every  blizzard  was  followed  by 
a  warm  wind  known  as  a  "  chinook  "  which  brought 
a  prompt  return  of  comfort  and  sleekness  to  the 
most  unhappy  steer;  but  wise  men  knew  better. 
For  the  cattle,  seeking  a  livelihood  on  the  snowy, 
wind-swept  wastes,  the  winter  was  one  long- pro- 
tracted misery. 

It  was  in  fact  not  an  unalloyed  delight  for  human 
beings,  especially  for  those  whose  business  it  was  to 


238       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

guard  the  cattle.  The  hardest  and  the  bitterest 
work  was  what  was  called  "  line  riding."  The 
ranchmen  cared  little  if  their  cattle  grazed  westward 
toward  the  Yellowstone;  it  was  a  different  matter, 
however,  if  they  drifted  east  and  southeast  to  the 
granger  country  and  the  Sioux  Reservation,  where 
there  were  flat,  bare  plains  which  offered  neither 
food  nor  shelter,  and  where  thieves  were  many 
and  difficult  to  apprehend.  Along  the  line  where 
the  broken  ground  of  the  Bad  Lands  met  the  prairie 
east  of  the  Little  Missouri,  the  ranchmen,  therefore, 
established  a  series  of  camps,  from  each  of  which  two 
cowboys,  starting  in  opposite  directions,  patrolled 
the  invisible  line  halfway  to  the  adjoining  camps. 

Bill  Sewall  gazed  out  over  the  bleak  country  with 
a  homesick  and  apprehensive  heart. 

As  for  our  coming  back  [he  wrote  his  brother  in  Jan- 
uary], you  need  not  worry  about  that.  As  soon  as  I  serve 
out  my  time  and  my  sentence  expires  I  shall  return. 
Am  having  a  good  time  and  enjoy  myself,  should  any- 
where if  I  knew  I  could  not  do  any  better  and  was 
obliged  to,  but  this  is  just  about  like  being  transported  to 
Siberia,  just  about  as  cold,  barren  and  desolate  and  most 
as  far  out  of  the  way.  It  was  hotter  here  last  summer 
than  it  ever  was  at  home  and  it  has  been  colder  here 
this  winter  than  it  ever  was  at  home,  50  and  65  below  all 
one  week.  Don't  see  how  the  cattle  live  at  all  and  there 
is  lots  of  them  dicing.  You  can  find  them  all  around 
where  they  lay  nights  in  the  bushes.  The  poor  ones  will 
all  go,  I  guess.  They  say  they  will  die  worse  in  the  spring. 
The  fat  strong  ones  will  get  through,  I  guess.  Don't 
know  that  any  of  our  hundred  have  died  yet,  but  I  don't 
believe  this  is  a  good  country  to  raise  cattle  in. 


RETURN  TO  MEDORA  239 

Am  afraid  Theodore  will  not  make  so  much  as  he  has 
been  led  to  think  he  would.  There  are  lots  of  bleeders 
here,  but  we  mean  to  fend  them  off  from  him  as  well  as 
we  can. 

Roosevelt  spent  the  coldest  months  in  New  York, 
working  steadily  on  his  new  book  w-hich  was  to  be 
called  "  Hunting  Trips  of  a  Ranchman."  On  the 
8th  of  March  he  wrote  Lodge,  "  I  have  just  sent 
my  last  roll  of  manuscript  to  the  printers  ";  adding, 
"  in  a  fortnight  I  shall  go  out  West."  But  he 
postponed  his  departure,  held  possibly  by  the  lure 
of  the  hunting-field;  for  on  the  29th  he  rode  with 
the  Meadowbrook  hounds  and  was  "in  at  the 
death."  It  w-as  presumably  in  the  first  days  of 
April  that  he  arrived  at  Medora.  If  tradition  may 
be  trusted,  he  came  in  all  the  glory  of  what  were 
known  as  "  store  clothes."  The  Pittsburgh  Des- 
patch, which  sent  out  a  reporter  to  the  train  to 
interview  him  as  he  passed  through  that  city,  west- 
ward-bound, refers  to  "  the  high  expanse  of  \vhite 
linen  which  enclosed  his  neck  to  the  ears,"  which 
sounds  like  a  slight  exaggeration.  Tradition  does 
insist,  however,  that  he  wore  a  derby  hat  when  he 
arrived,  which  was  considered  highly  venturesome. 
Derby  hats  as  a  rule  were  knocked  off  on  sight 
and  then  bombarded  with  six-shooters  beyond 
recognition.  Roosevelt  informed  his  fellow  citizens 
early  in  his  career  as  a  cowpuncher  that  he  intended 
to  wear  any  hat  he  pleased.  Evidently  it  was 
deemed  expedient  to  suspend  the  rule  in  his  case, 
for  he  was  not  molested. 


240       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

After  a  brief  sojourn  at  the  Maltese  Cross, 
Roosevelt  made  his  way  north  to  Elkhorn  Ranch. 
The  house  was  nearing  completion.  It  was  a  one- 
story  log  structure,  with  a  covered  porch  on  the  side 
facing  the  river;  a  spacious  house  of  many  rooms 
divided  by  a  corridor  running  straight  through 
from  north  to  south.  Roosevelt's  bedroom,  on  the 
southeast  corner,  adjoined  a  largd  room  containing 
a  fireplace,  which  was  to  be  Roosevelt's  study  by 
day  and  the  general  living-room  by  night.  The 
fireplace,  which  had  been  built  by  an  itinerant 
Swedish  mason  whom  Sewall  looked  upon  with 
disapproval  as  a  dollar-chaser,  had  been  designed 
under  the  influence  of  a  Dakota  winter  and  was 
enormous.  Will  Dow,  who  was  somewhat  of  a 
blacksmith,  had  made  a  pair  of  andirons  out  of  a 
steel  rail,  which  he  had  discovered  floating  down 
the  river  loosely  attached  to  a  beam  of  yellow  pine.^ 

The  cattle,  Roosevelt  found,  were  looking  well. 
"  Bill,"  he  said  to  Sewall,  remembering  the  back- 
woodsman's pessimism,  "  you  were  mistaken  about 
those  cows.    Cows  and  calves  are  all  looking  fine." 

But  Sewall  was  not  to  be  convinced.  "  You 
wait  until  next  spring,"  he  answered,  "  and  see 
how  they  look." 

Roosevelt  was  himself  physically  in  rather  bad 
shape,  suffering  from  that  affliction  which  has,  by 
common  consent,  been  deemed  of  all  of  Job's 
troubles  the  one  hardest  to  bear  with  equanimity. 

'  The  andirons  are  still  doing  service  at  the  ranch  of  Howard 
Eaton  and  his  brothers  in  Wolf,  Wyoming. 


ILLNESS  AND  RECOVERY  241 

Douglas  Robinson  wrote  Sewall  telling  him  that 
Theodore's  sisters  were  worried  about  him  and 
asking  him  for  news  of  Roosevelt's  health.  Roose- 
velt heard  of  the  request  and  was  indignant,  "  flaring 
up,"  as  Sewall  described  it. 

"  They  had  no  business  to  write  to  you,"  he 
exclaimed.    "  They  should  have  written  to  me." 

"  I  guess,"  remarked  Sewall  quietly,  "  they 
knew  you  wouldn't  write  about  how  you  were 
getting  on.   You'd  just  say  you  were  all  right." 

Roosevelt  fumed  and  said  no  more  about  it. 
But  the  crisp  air  of  the  Bad  Lands  gradually  put 
all  questions  of  his  health  out  of  mind.  All  day 
long  he  lived  in  the  open.  He  was  not  an  enthusiast 
over  the  hammer  or  the  axe,  and,  while  Sewall  and 
Dow  were  completing  the  house  and  building  the 
corrals  and  the  stables  a  hundred  yards  or  more 
westward,  he  renewed  his  acquaintance  with  the 
bizarre  but  fascinating  country.  The  horses  which 
the  men  from  Maine  had  missed  the  previous 
autumn,  and  which  Roosevelt  had  feared  had  been 
stolen,  had  been  reported  "  running  wild  "  forty  or 
fifty  miles  to  the  west.  Sewall  and  Dow  had  made 
one  or  two  trips  after  them  without  success,  for 
the  animals  had  come  to  enjoy  their  liberty  and 
proved  elusive.  Roosevelt  determined  to  find  them 
and  bring  them  back.  He  went  on  three  solitary 
expeditions,  but  they  proved  barren  of  result. 
Incidentally,  however,  they  furnished  him  experi- 
ences which  were  worth  many  horses. 

On  one  of  these  expeditions  night  overtook  him 


242       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

not  far  from  Mingusville.  That  hot  Httle  commu- 
nity, under  the  inspiration  of  a  Frenchman  named 
Pierre  Wibaux,  was  rapidly  becoming  an  important 
cattle  center.  As  a  shipping  point  it  had,  by  the 
close  of  1884,  already  attained  notable  proportions 
on  the  freight  records  of  the  Northern  Pacific. 
Medora,  in  all  its  glory,  could  not  compete  with 
it,  for  the  cattle  trails  through  the  Bad  Lands  were 
difficult,  and  space  was  lacking  on  the  small  bottoms 
near  the  railroad  to  hold  herds  of  any  size  prepara- 
tory to  shipping.  About  Mingusville  all  creation 
stretched  undulating  to  the  hazy  horizon.  The  great 
southern  cattle  companies  which  had  recently  es- 
tablished themselves  on  the  northern  range,  Simp- 
son's "  Hash-Knife  "  brand.  Towers  and  Gudgell's 
O.  X.  Ranch,  and  the  Berry,  Boyce  Company's 
"  Three-Seven  outfit,"  all  drove  their  cattle  along 
the  Beaver  to  Mingusville,  and  even  Merrifield 
and  Sylvane  preferred  shipping  their  stock  from 
there  to  driving  it  to  the  more  accessible,  but  also 
more  congested,  yards  at  Medora. 

Civilization  had  not  kept  pace  with  commerce 
in  the  development  of  the  prairie  "  town."  It  was 
a  lurid  little  place.  Medora,  in  comparison  to  it, 
might  have  appeared  almost  sober  and  New- 
Englandish.  It  had  no  "  steady  "  residents  save  a 
half-dozen  railroad  employees,  the  landlord  of  the 
terrible  hotel  south  of  the  tracks,  where  Roosevelt 
had  had  his  encounter  with  the  drunken  bully,  and 
a  certain  Mrs.  Nolan  and  her  daughters,  who  kept 
an  eminently  respectable   boarding-house  on   the 


MINGUSVILLE  243 

opposite  side  of  the  railroad;  but  its  "floating 
population  "  was  large.  Every  herd  driven  into  the 
shipping-yards  from  one  of  the  great  ranches  in  the 
upper  Little  Missouri  country  brought  with  it  a 
dozen  or  more  parched  cowboys  hungering  and 
thirsting  for  excitement  as  no  saint  ever  hungered 
and  thirsted  for  righteousness;  and  celebrations  had 
a  way  of  lasting  for  days.  The  men  were  Texans, 
most  of  them,  extraordinary  riders,  born  to  the 
saddle,  but  reckless,  given  to  heav^^  drinking,  and 
utterly  wild  and  irresponsible  when  drunk.  It  was 
their  particular  delight  to  make  life  hideous  for  the 
station  agent  and  the  telegraph  operator.  For 
some  weeks  Mingusville,  it  was  said,  had  a  new 
telegraph  operator  every  night.  About  ten  o'clock 
the  cowboys,  celebrating  at  the  "  hotel,"  would 
drift  over  to  the  board  shack  which  was  the  railroad 
station,  and  "  shoot  it  full  of  holes.""  They  had  no 
particular  reason  for  doing  this;  they  had  no  grudge 
against  either  the  railroad  or  the  particular  operator 
who  happened  to  be  in  charge.  They  w^re  children, 
and  it  was  fun  to  hear  the  bullets  pop,  and  excruci- 
ating fun  to  see  the  operator  run  out  of  the  shack 
with  a  yell  and  go  scampering  off  into  the  darkness. 
One  operator  entered  into  negotiations  with  the 
enemy.  Recognizing  their  perfect  right  to  shoot  up 
the  station  if  they  w^anted  to,  he  merely  stipulated 
that  they  allow  him  to  send  off  the  night's  dispatches 
before  they  began.  This  request  seemed  to  the 
cowboys  altogether  reasonable.  They  waited  until 
the  operator  said  that  his  work  was  done.    Then,  as 


244       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

he  faded  away  in  the  darkness,  the  night's  bombard- 
ment began. 

Into  this  tempestuous  Httle  "  town,"  Roosevelt 
rode  one  day  as  night  was  falUng.  No  doubt  be- 
cause Mrs.  Nolan's  beds  were  filled,  he  was  forced 
to  take  a  room  at  the  nefarious  hotel  where  he  had 
chastised  the  bully  a  year  previous.  Possibly  to 
prevent  the  recurrence  of  that  experience,  he  retired 
early  to  the  small  room  with  one  bed  which  had 
been  assigned  him  and  sat  until  late  reading  the 
book  he  had  brought  along  in  his  saddle-pocket. 

The  house  was  quiet  and  every  one  was  asleep, 
when  a  cowboy  arrived  from  God  knows  whence, 
yelling  and  shooting  as  he  came  galloping  through 
the  darkness.  He  was  evidently  very  drunk.  He 
thumped  loudly  on  the  door,  and  after  some  delay 
the  host  opened  it.  The  stranger  showed  no  ap- 
preciation; on  the  contrary,  he  seized  the  hotel- 
keeper,  half  in  play,  it  seemed,  and  half  in  enmity, 
jammed  the  mouth  of  his  six-shooter  against  his 
stomach  and  began  to  dance  about  the  room  with 
him. 

In  the  room  above,  Roosevelt  heard  the  host's 
agonized  appeals.  "  Jim,  don't!  Don't,  Jim!  It'll 
go  off!   Jim,  it'll  go  off!  " 

Jim's  response  was  not  reassuring.  "  Yes,  damn 
you,  it'll  go  off!  I'll  learn  you!  Who  in  hell  cares  if 
it  does  go  off!   Oh,  I'll  learn  you!  " 

But  the  gun,  after  all,  did  not  go  off.  The  cowboy 
subsided,  then  burst  into  vociferous  demands  for  a 
bed.   A  minute  later  Roosevelt  heard  steps  in  the 


HE'S  DRUNK  AND  ON  THE  SHOOT    245 

hall,  followed  by  a  knock  at  his  door.  Roosevelt 
opened  it. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  the  host,  "  but  there's  a  man 
I'll  have  to  put  in  with  you  for  the  night." 

"  You're  not  as  sorry  as  I  am,"  Roosevelt  an- 
swered coolly,  "  and  I'm  not  going  to  have  him 
come  in  here." 

The  host  was  full  of  apologies.  "  He's  drunk  and 
he's  on  the  shoot,"  he  said  unhappily,  "  and  he's 
got  to  come  in." 

This  appeal  was  not  of  a  character  to  weaken 
Roosevelt's  resolution.  "I'm  going  to  lock  my 
door,"  he  remarked  firmly,  "  and  put  out  my  light. 
And  I'll  shoot  anybody  who  tries  to  break  in." 

The  host  departed.  Roosevelt  never  knew  where 
the  unwelcome  guest  was  lodged  that  night;  but 
he  himself  was  left  undisturbed. 

On  another  occasion  that  spring,  when  Roosevelt 
was  out  on  the  prairie  hunting  the  lost  horses,  he 
was  overtaken  by  darkness.  Mingusville  was  the 
only  place  within  thirty  miles  or  more  that  offered 
a  chance  of  a  night's  lodging,  and  he  again  rode 
there,  knocking  at  the  door  of  Mrs.  Nolan's  board- 
ing-house late  in  the  evening.  Mrs.  Nolan,  who 
greeted  him,  was  a  tough,  wiry  Irishwoman  of  the 
t>pe  of  Mrs.  Maddox,  with  a  fighting  jaw  and  a 
look  in  her  eye  that  had  been  known  to  be  as  potent 
as  a  "  six-shooter  "  in  clearing  a  room  of  undesirable 
occupants.  She  disciplined  her  husband  (who  evi- 
dently needed  it)  and  brought  up  her  daughters 
with  a  calm  good  sense  that  won  them  and  her 


246       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

the  respect  of  the  roughest   of  the   cowpunchers 
who  came  under  her  roof. 

Roosevelt,  having  stabled  his  horse  in  an  empty 
out-building,  asked  for  a  bed.  Mrs.  Nolan  answered 
that  he  could  have  the  last  one  that  was  left,  since 
there  was  only  one  other  man  in  it. 

He  accepted  the  dubious  privilege  and  was  shown 
to  a  room  containing  two  double  beds.  One  con- 
tained two  men  fast  asleep,  the  other  only  one  man, 
also  asleep.  He  recognized  his  bedfellow.  It  was 
"  Three-Seven  "  Bill  Jones,  an  excellent  cowman 
belonging  to  the  "  Three-Seven  outfit  "  who  had 
recently  acquired  fame  by  playfully'  holding  up  the 
Overland  Express  in  order  to  make  the  conductor 
dance.  He  put  his  trousers,  boots,  shaps,  and  gun 
down  beside  the  bed,  and  turned  in. 

He  was  awakened  an  hour  or  two  later  by  a  crash 
as  the  door  was  rudely  flung  open.  A  lantern  was 
flashed  in  his  face,  and,  as  he  came  to  full  con- 
sciousness, he  found  himself,  in  the  light  of  a  dingy 
lantern,  staring  into  the  mouth  of  a  "  six-shooter." 

Another  man  said  to  the  lantern-bearer,  "  It 
ain't  him."  The  next  moment  his  bedfellow  was 
"  covered  "  with  two  "  guns."  "  Now,  Bill,"  said  a 
gruff  voice,  "  don't  make  a  fuss,  but  come  along 
quiet." 

"  All  right,  don't  sweat  yourself,"  responded 
Bill.    "  I'm  not  thinking  of  making  a  fuss." 

"  That's  right,"  was  the  answer,  "  we're  your 
friends.  We  don't  want  to  hurt  you;  we  just  want 
you  to  come  along.   You  know  why." 


THE  SEIZURE  OF  BILL  247 

Bill  pulled  on  his  trousers  and  boots  and  walked 
out  with  them. 

All  the  while  there  had  been  no  sound  from  the 
other  bed.  Now  a  match  was  scratched  and  a 
candle  was  lit,  and  one  of  the  men  looked  round  the 
room. 

"  I  wonder  why  they  took  Bill,"  Roosevelt 
remarked. 

There  was  no  answer,  and  Roosevelt,  not  knowing 
that  there  was  what  he  later  termed  an  "  alkali 
etiquette  in  such  matters,"  repeated  the  question. 
"  I  wonder  why  they  took  Bill." 

"  Well,"  said  the  man  with  the  candle,  dryly, 
"  I  reckon  they  wanted  him,"  and  blew  out  the 
candle.  That  night  there  was  no  more  conversation ; 
but  Roosevelt's  education  had  again  been  extended. 


XV 

When  did  we  long  for  the  sheltered  gloom 
Of  the  older  game  with  its  cautious  odds? 

Gloried  we  always  in  sun  and  room, 

Spending  our  strength  like  the  younger  gods. 

By  the  wild,  sweet  ardor  that  ran  in  us. 

By  the  pain  that  tested  the  man  in  us, 

By  the  shadowy  springs  and  the  glaring  sand, 
You  were  our  true-love,  young,  young  land. 

Badger  Clark 

Spring  came  to  the  Bad  Lands  in  fits  and  numerous 
false  starts,  first  the  "  chinook,"  uncovering  the 
butte-tops  between  dawn  and  dusk,  then  the  rush- 
ing of  many  waters,  the  flooding  of  low  bottom- 
lands, the  agony  of  a  world  of  gumbo,  and,  after 
a  dozen  boreal  setbacks,  the  awakening  of  green 
things  and  the  return  of  a  temperature  fit  for 
human  beings  to  live  in.  Snow  buntings  came  in 
March,  flocking  familiarly  round  the  cow-shed  at 
the  Maltese  Cross,  now  chittering  on  the  ridge-pole, 
now  hovering  in  the  air  with  quivering  wings, 
warbling  their  loud,  merry  song.  Before  the  snow 
was  off  the  ground,  the  grouse  cocks  could  be  heard 
uttering  their  hollow  booming.  At  the  break  of 
morning,  their  deep,  resonant  calls  came  from  far 
and  near  through  the  clear  air  like  the  vibrant 
sound  of  some  wind  instrument.  Now  and  again, 
at  dawn  or  in  the  early  evening,  Roosevelt  would 
stop  and  listen  for  many  minutes  to  the  weird, 
strange  music,  or  steal  upon  the  cocks  where  they 
were   gathered   holding    their   dancing   rings,    and 


THE  SPRING  OF  1885  249 

watch  them  posturing  and  strutting  about  as  they 
paced  through  their  minuet. 

The  opening  of  the  ground  —  and  it  was  occasion- 
ally not  unlike  the  opening  of  a  trap-door  —  brought 
work  in  plenty  to  Roosevelt  and  his  friends  at  the 
Maltese  Cross.  The  glades  about  the  water-holes 
where  the  cattle  congregated  became  bogs  that 
seemed  to  have  no  bottom.  Cattle  sank  in  them 
and  perished  unless  a  saving  rope  was  thrown  in 
time  about  their  horns  and  a  gasping  pony  pulled 
them  clear.  The  ponies  themselves  became  mired 
and  had  to  be  rescued.  It  was  a  period  of  wallowing 
for  everything  on  four  feet  or  on  two.  The  mud 
stuck  like  plaster.^ 

Travel  of  every  sort  was  hazardous  during  early 
spring,  for  no  one  ever  knew  when  the  ground  would 
open  and  engulf  him.  Ten  thousand  wash-outs,  a 
dozen  feet  deep  or  thirty,  ran  "  bank-high  "  with 
swirling,  merciless  waters,  and  the  Little  Missouri, 
which  was  a  shallow  trickle  in  August,  was  a  torrent 
in  April.  There  were  no  bridges.  If  you  wanted  to 
get  to  the  other  side,  you  swam  your  horse  across, 
hoping  for  the  best. 

At  Medora  it  was  customary,  when  the  Little 
Missouri  was  high,  to  ride  to  the  western  side  on 
the  narrow  footpath  between  the  tracks  on  the 
trestle;  and  after  the  Marquis  built  a  dam  nearby 
for  the   purpose  of  securing  ice  of  the   necessary 

*  "  I  never  was  bothered  by  gumbo  in  the  Bad  Lands.  There  wasn't 
a  sufficient  proportion  of  clay  in  the  soil.  But  out  on  the  prairie, 
oh,  my  martyred  Aunt  Jane's  black  and  white  striped  cat!"  —  A.  T. 
Packard. 


250       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

thickness  for  use  in  his  refrigerating  plant,  a  venture- 
some spirit  now  and  then  guided  his  horse  across 
its  slippery  surface.  It  happened  one  day  early  in 
April  that  Fisher  was  at  the  river's  edge,  with  a 
number  of  men,  collecting  certain  tools  and  lumber 
which  had  been  used  in  the  cutting  and  hauling  of 
the  ice,  when  Roosevelt,  riding  Manitou,  drew  up, 
with  the  evident  intention  of  making  his  way  over 
the  river  on  the  dam.  The  dam,  however,  had 
disappeared.  The  ice  had  broken  up,  far  up  the 
river,  and  large  cakes  were  floating  past,  accumu- 
lating at  the  bend  below  the  town  and  raising  the 
water  level  well  above  the  top  of  the  Marquis's 
dam.  The  river  was  what  Joe  Ferris  had  a  way  of 
calling  "  swimmin'  deep  for  a  giraffe." 

"  Where  does  the  dam  start?  "  asked  Roosevelt. 

"  You  surely  won't  try  to  cross  on  the  dam," 
exclaimed  Fisher,  *'  when  you  can  go  and  cross  on 
the  trestle  the  way  the  others  do?  " 

**  If  Manitou  gets  his  feet  on  that  dam,"  Roose- 
velt replied,  "  he'll  keep  them  there  and  we  can 
make  it  finely." 

"  Well,  it's  more  than  likely,"  said  Fisher,  "  that 
there's  not  much  of  the  dam  left." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,  anyway.  Manitou's  a  good 
swimmer  and  we're  going  across." 

Fisher,  with  grave  misgivings,  indicated  where 
the  dam  began.  Roosevelt  turned  his  horse  into 
the  river;    Manitou  did  not  hesitate. 

Fisher  shouted,  hoping  to  attract  the  attention 
of   some  cowboy  on  the  farther  bank  who   might 


SWIMMING  THE  LITTLE  MISSOURI     251 

stand  ready  with  a  rope  to  rescue  the  venturesome 
rider.    There  was  no  response. 

On  the  steps  of  the  store,  however,  which  he  had 
inh-erited  from  the  unstable  Johnny  Nelson,  Joe 
Ferris  was  watching  the  amazing  performance.  He 
saw  a  rider  coming  from  the  direction  of  the  Maltese 
Cross,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  rider  looked 
like  Roosevelt.  Anxiously  he  watched  him  pick  his 
way  out  on  the  submerged  dam. 

Manitou,  meanwhile,  was  living  up  to  his  reputa- 
tion. Fearlessly,  yet  with  infinite  caution,  he  kept 
his  course  along  the  unseen  path.  Suddenly  the 
watchers  on  the  east  bank  and  the  west  saw  horse 
and  rider  disappear,  swallowed  up  by  the  brown 
waters.  An  instant  later  they  came  in  sight  again. 
Roosevelt  flung  himself  from  his  horse  "  on  the 
down-stream  side,"  and  with  one  hand  on  the  horn 
of  the  saddle  fended  off  the  larger  blocks  of  ice  from 
before  his  faithful  horse. 

Fisher  said  to  himself  that  if  Manitou  drifted 
even  a  little  with  the  stream,  Roosevelt  would  never 
get  ashore.  The  next  landing  was  a  mile  down  the 
river,  and  that  might  be  blocked  by  the  ice. 

The  horse  struck  bottom  at  the  extreme  lower  edge 
of  the  ford  and  struggled  up  the  bank.  Roosevelt 
had  not  even  lost  his  glasses.  He  laughed  and  waved 
his  hand  to  Fisher,  mounted  and  rode  to  Joe's 
store.  Having  just  risked  his  life  in  the  wildest 
sort  of  adventure,  it  was  entirely  characteristic  of 
him  that  he  should  exercise  the  caution  of  putting 
on  a  pair  of  dry  socks. 


252       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Joe  received  him  with  mingled  devotion  and 
amazement.  "Landsake,  man!  "  he  cried,  "were  n't 
you  afraid?  " 

"  I  was  riding  Manitou,"  Roosevelt  responded 
quietly.  **  Just,"  exclaimed  Joe  later,  "  as  though 
Manitou  was  a  steam  engine."  He  bought  a  new 
pair  of  socks,  put  them  on,  and  proceeded  on  his 
journey. 

Fisher  saw  him  shortly  after  and  accused  him  of 
being  reckless. 

"  I  suppose  it  might  be  considered  reckless," 
Roosevelt  admitted.    "  But  it  was  lots  of  fun." 

Roosevelt  spent  his  time  alternately  at  the  two 
ranches,  writing  somewhat  and  correcting  the  proofs 
of  his  new  book,  but  spending  most  of  his  time  in 
the  saddle.  The  headquarters  of  his  cattle  business 
was  at  the  Maltese  Cross  where  Sylvane  Ferris  and 
Merrifield  were  in  command.  Elkhorn  was,  for 
the  time  being,  merely  a  refuge  and  a  hunting- 
lodge  where  Sewall  and  Dow  "  ran  "  a  few  hundred 
cattle  under  the  general  direction  of  the  more  ex- 
perienced men  of  the  other  "  outfit." 

'  At  the  Maltese  Cross  there  were  now  a  half- 
dozen  hands,  Sylvane  and  "  our  friend  with  the 
beaver-slide,"  as  Merrifield,  who  was  bald,  was 
known ;  George  Myers,  warm-hearted  and  honest  as 
the  day;  Jack  Renter,  known  as  "  Wannigan," 
with  his  stupendous  memory  and  his  Teutonic 
appetite;  and  at  intervals  "old  man"  Thompson 
who  was  a  teamster,  and  a  huge  being  named  Hank 


RANCHING  COMPANIONS  253 

Bennett.  Roosevelt  liked  them  all  immensely. 
They  possessed  to  an  extraordinary  degree  the 
qualities  of  manhood  which  he  deemed  fundamental, 
—  courage,  integrity,  hardiness,  self-reliance, — 
combining  with  those  qualities  a  warmth,  a  humor, 
and  a  humanness  that  opened  his  understanding  to 
many  things.  He  had  come  in  contact  before  with 
men  whose  opportunities  in  life  had  been  less  than 
his,  and  who  In  the  eyes  of  the  world  belonged  to 
that  great  mass  of  "  common  people  "  of  whom 
Lincoln  said  that  "  the  Lord  surely  loved  them 
since  he  made  so  many  of  them."  But  he  had  never 
lived  with  them,  day  in,  day  out,  slept  with  them, 
eaten  out  of  the  same  dish  with  them.  The  men  of 
the  cattle  country,  he  found,  as  daily  companions, 
wore  well. 

They  called  him  "Mr.  Roosevelt,"  not  "Theo- 
dore" nor  "Teddy."  For,  though  he  was  comrade 
and  friend  to  all,  he  was  also  the  "boss,"  and  they 
showed  him  the  respect  his  position  and  his  in- 
stinctive leadership  merited.  More  than  once  a  man 
who  attempted  to  be  unduly  familiar  with  Roose- 
velt found  himself  swiftly  and  effectively  squelched. 
He  himself  entered  with  enthusiasm  into  the  work 
of  administration.  He  regarded  the  ranch  as  a  most 
promising  business  venture,  and  felt  assured  that, 
with  ordinary  luck,  he  should  make  his  livelihood 
from  it.  On  every  side  he  received  support  for  this 
assurance.  The  oldest  cattleman  as  well  as  the 
youngest  joined  in  the  chorus  that  there  never  had 
been  such  a  country  for  turning  cattle  into  dollars. 


254       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

In    the    Territorial    Governor's    Report    for    1885, 
Packard  is  quoted,  waxing  lyric  about  it: 

Bunch  and  buffalo-grass  cover  almost  every  inch  of 
the  ground.  The  raw  sides  of  buttes  are  the  only  places 
where  splendid  grazing  cannot  be  found.  On  many  of 
the  buttes,  however,  the  grass  grows  clear  to  the  summit, 
the  slopes  being  the  favorite  pasture-lands  of  the  cattle. 
Generally  no  hay  need  be  cut,  as  the  grass  cures  standing, 
and  keeps  the  cattle  in  as  good  condition  all  winter 
as  if  they  were  stall-fed.  The  only  reason  for  putting 
up  hay  is  to  avoid  a  scarcity  of  feed  in  case  of  heavy 
snow.  This  very  seldom  happens,  however,  as  very 
little  snow  falls  in  the  Bad  Lands.  A  curious  fact  with 
cattle  is  that  the  ones  that  have  been  here  a  year  or  two, 
and  know  how  to  rustle,  will  turn  away  from  a  stack  of 
hay,  paw  away  the  snow  from  the  grass,  and  feed  on 
that  exclusively.  Even  in  the  dead  of  winter  a  meadow 
has  a  very  perceptible  tinge  of  green. 

A  realist  might  have  remarked  that  very  little 
snow  fell  in  the  Bad  Lands  mainly  because  the 
wind  would  not  let  it.  The  Cowboy  editor's  exultant 
optimism  has  an  aspect  of  terrible  irony  in  the  light 
of  the  tragedy  that  was  even  then  building  itself 
out  of  the  over-confidence  of  a  hundred  enthusiasts. 

Bill  Sewall  and  Will  Dow  alone  remained  skeptical. 

Perhaps  we  are  wrong  [Sewall  wrote  his  brother], 
but  we  think  it  is  too  cold  and  barren  for  a  good  cattle 
country.  Nobody  has  made  anything  at  it  yet.  All  expect 
to.  Guess  it's  very  much  like  going  into  the  woods  in  fall. 
All  are  happy,  hut  the  drive  is  not  in  yet.  When  it  does 
get  in,  am  afraid  there  will  be  a  shortness  somewhere. 
The  men  that  furnish  the  money  are  not  many  of  them 
here  themselves  and  the  fellows  that  run  the  business 


GOLDEN  EXPECTATIONS  255 

and  are  supposed  to  know,  all  look  for  a  very  prosper- 
ous future,  consider  the  troubles  and  discouragements, 
losses,  etc.,  temporary.  They  are  like  us  —  getting  good 
and  sure  pay. 

Roosevelt  recognized  the  possibility  of  great 
losses;  but  he  would  have  been  less  than  human  if 
in  that  youthful  atmosphere  of  gorgeous  expecta- 
tion he  had  not  seen  the  possibilities  of  failure  less 
vividly  than  the  possibilities  of  success.  Sylvane  and 
Merrifield  were  confident  that  they  were  about  to 
make  their  everlasting  fortunes;  George  Myers  in- 
vested every  cent  of  his  savings  in  cattle,  "  throw- 
ing them  in,"  as  the  phrase  went,  with  the  herd  of 
the  Maltese  Cross.  In  their  first  year  the  Maltese 
Cross  "  outfit  "  had  branded  well  over  a  hundred 
calves;  the  losses,  in  what  had  been  a  severe  winter, 
had  been  slight.  It  was  a  season  of  bright  hopes. 
Late  in  April,  Roosevelt  sent  Merrifield  to  Minnesota 
wdth  Sewall  and  Dow  and  a  check  for  twelve  thou- 
sand five  hundred  dollars  to  purchase  as  many  more 
head  of  stock  as  the  money  would  buy. 

Roosevelt,  meanwhile,  w^as  proving  himself  as 
capable  as  a  ranchman  as  he  was  courageous  as  an 
investor.  The  men  who  worked  with  him  noted 
with  satisfaction  that  he  learned  quickly  and  worked 
hard;  that  he  W'as  naturally  progressive;  that  he 
cared  little  for  money,  and  yet  was  thrifty;  that, 
although  conferring  in  all  matters  affecting  the 
stock  with  Sylvane  and  Merrifield,  and  deferring 
to  their  experience  even  at  times  against  his  own 
judgment,  he  w^as  very  much  the  leader.   He  was 


256       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

never  "  bossy,"  they  noted,  but  he  was  insistent 
on  disciphne,  on  regularity  of  habits,  on  prompt 
obedience,  on  absolute  integrity. 

He  was  riding  over  the  range  one  day  with  one 
of  his  ablest  cowpunchers,  when  they  came  upon  a 
"  maverick,"  a  two-year-old  steer,  which  had  never 
been  branded.  They  lassoed  him  promptly  and 
built  a  fire  to  heat  the  branding-irons. 

It  was  the  rule  of  the  cattlemen  that  a  "  mav- 
erick "  belonged  to  the  ranchman  on  whose  range 
it  was  found.  This  particular  steer,  therefore, 
belonged,  not  to  Roosevelt,  but  to  Gregor  Lang,  who 
"  claimed  "  the  land  over  which  Roosevelt  and  his 
cowboy  were  riding.  The  Texan  started  to  apply 
the  red-hot  iron. 

"  It  is  Lang's  brand  —  a  thistle,"  said  Roosevelt. 

"That's  all  right,  boss,"  answered  the  cowboy. 
**  I  know  my  business." 

"  Hold  on!"  Roosevelt  exclaimed  an  instant  later, 
"you  are  putting  on  my  brand." 

"That's  all  right.  I  always  put  on  the  boss's 
brand." 

"  Drop  that  iron,"  said  Roosevelt  quietly,  "  and 
go  to  the  ranch  and  get  your  time.  I  don't  need 
you  any  longer." 

The  cowpuncher  was  amazed.  "  Say,  what  have 
I  done?    Didn't  I  put  on  your  brand?" 

"  A  man  who  will  steal /or  me  will  steal  from  me. 
You're  fired." 

The  man  rode  away.  A  day  or  so  later  the  story 
was  all  over  the  Bad  Lands. 


THE  BOSS  OF  THE  MALTESE  CROSS    257 

Roosevelt  was  scarcely  more  tolerant  of  in- 
eflFectiveness  than  he  was  of  dishonesty.  When  a 
man  was  sent  to  do  a  piece  of  work,  he  was  expected 
to  do  it  promptly  and  thoroughly.  He  brooked  no 
slack  work  and  he  had  no  ear  for  what  were  known 
as  "  hard-luck  stories."  He  gave  his  orders,  know- 
ing why  he  gave  them;  and  expected  results.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  a  man  "  did  his  turn  "  without 
complaint  or  default,  Roosevelt  showed  himself 
eager  and  prompt  to  reward  him. 

His  companions  saw  these  things,  and  other 
things.  They  saw  that  "  the  boss  "  was  quick- 
tempered and  impatient  of  restraint;  but  they 
saw  also  that  in  times  of  stress  the  hot-headed  boy 
seemed  instantly  to  grow  into  a  cautious  and  level- 
headed man,  dependable  in  hardship  and  cool  in 
the  face  of  danger.  He  was,  as  one  of  them  put  it, 
"  courageous  without  recklessness,  firm  without 
being  stubborn,  resolute  without  being  obstinate. 
There  was  no  element  of  the  spectacular  in  his 
make-up,  but  an  honest  naturalness  that  won  him 
friends  instantly." 

"  Roosevelt  out  in  Dakota  was  full  of  life  and 
spirit,  always  pleasant,"  said  Bill  Sewall  in  after 
years.  "  He  was  hot-tempered  and  quick,  but  he 
kept  his  temper  in  good  control.  As  a  rule,  when  he 
had  anything  to  sav,  he'd  spit  it  out.  His  temper 
would  show  itself  in  the  first  flash  in  some  exclama- 
tion. In  connection  with  Roosevelt  I  always  think 
of  that  verse  in  the  Bible,  '  He  that  ruleth  his  spirit 
is  greater  than  he  that  taketh  a  city.'  " 


258       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

"  He  struck  me  like  a  sort  of  rough-an'-ready, 
all-around  frontiersman,"  said  "  Dutch  Wannigan." 
"  Wasn't  a  bit  stuck  up  —  just  the  same  as  one  of 
the  rest  of  us." 

Joe  Ferris,  who  frankly  adored  Roosevelt,  de- 
clared to  a  crowd  at  his  store  one  day,  "  I  wouldn't 
be  surprised  if  Roosevelt  would  be  President." 

His  hearers  scoffed  at  him.  "  That  fool  Joe 
Ferris,"  remarked  one  of  them  at  his  own  ranch 
that  night,  "  says  that  Roosevelt  will  be  President 
some  day." 

But  Joe  held  his  ground.^ 

The  neighbors  up  and  down  the  river  were  warm- 
hearted and  friendly.  Mrs.  Roberts  had  decided 
that  she  wanted  a  home  of  her  own,  and  had  per- 
suaded her  husband  to  build  her  a  cabin  some 
three  miles  north  of  the  Maltese  Cross,  where  a 
long  green  slope  met  a  huge  sem.i-circle  of  gray 
buttes.  The  cabin  was  primitive,  being  built  of 
logs  stuck,  stockade-fashion,  in  the  ground,  and 
the  roof  was  only  dirt  until  Mrs.  Roberts  planted 
sunflowers  there  and  made  it  a  garden;  but  for 
Mrs.  Roberts,  with  her  flock  of  babies,  it  was 
"  home,"  and  for  many  a  cowboy,  passing  the  time 
of  day  with  the  genial  Irishwoman,  it  was  the  near- 
est approach  to  "  home  "  that  he  knew  from  one 
year's  end  to  another. 

1  Joe  Ferris  was  made  aware  of  this  scornful  reference  to  his 
judgment  through  a  cowboy,  Carl  Hollenberg,  who  overheard  it,  and 
sixteen  years  later  came  into  Joe's  store  one  September  day  shouting, 
"  That  fool,  Joe  Ferris,  says  that  Roosevelt  will  be  President  some 
day!  "  The  point  was  that  Roosevelt  had  that  week  succeeded 
McKinley  in  the  White  House. 


THE  BUTTERMILK  259 

Shortly  after  Mrs.  Roberts  had  moved  to  her  new 
house,  Roosevelt  and  Merrifield  paid  her  a  call. 
Mrs.  Roberts,  who  had  the  only  milch  cow  in  the 
Bad  Lands,  had  been  churning:,  and  offered  Roose- 
velt a  glass  of  buttermilk.  He  drank  it  with  an 
appreciation  worthy  of  a  rare  occasion.  But  as  he 
rode  off  again,  he  turned  to  Merrifield  with  his 
teeth  set. 

"Heavens,  Merrifield!"  he  exclaimed,  "don't 
you  ever  do  that  again!  " 

Merrifield  was  amazed.    "  Do  what?  " 

"  Put  me  in  a  position  where  I  have  to  drink 
buttermilk.    I  loathe  the  stuff!  " 

"  But  why  did  you  drink  it?  " 

"She  brought  it  out!"  he  exclaimed,  "And  it 
would  have  hurt  her  feelings  if  I  hadn't.  But  look 
out!    I  don't  want  to  have  to  do  it  again!  " 

Mrs.  Roberts  spared  him  thenceforward,  and 
there  was  nothing,  therefore,  to  spoil  for  Roosevelt 
the  merriment  of  the  Irishwoman's  talk  and  the 
stimulus  of  her  determination  and  courage.  There 
were  frequent  occasions  consequently  when  "  the 
boys  from  the  Maltese  Cross  "  foregathered  in  the 
Roberts  cabin,  and  other  occasions,  notably  Sun- 
days (when  Sylvane  and  Merrifield  and  George 
M^ers  had  picked  up  partners  in  Medora)  when 
they  all  called  for  "  Lady  Roberts  "  as  chaperon 
and  rode  up  the  valley  together.  They  used  to 
take  peculiar  delight  in  descending  upon  Mrs. 
Cummins  and  making  her  miserable. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  make  that  poor  lady  un- 


26o       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

happy.  She  had  a  fixed  notion  of  what  life  should 
be  for  people  who  were  "  nice  "  and  "  refined," 
and  her  days  were  a  succession  of  regrets  at  the 
shortcomings  of  her  neighbors.  She  was  in  many 
ways  an  admirable  woman,  but  she  seemed  incap- 
able of  extending  the  conception  of  gentility  which 
a  little  Pennsylvania  town  had  given  her,  and  she 
never  caught  a  gleam  of  the  real  meaning  of  the 
life  of  which  she  was  a  part.  She  wanted  everything 
in  the  Bad  Lands  exactly  as  she  had  had  it  at  home. 
"  Well,"  as  Mrs.  Roberts  subsequently  remarked, 
"  she  had  one  time  of  it,  I'm  telling  you,  in  those 
old  rough  days." 

Mrs.  Cummins  was  not  the  only  neighbor  who 
furnished  amusement  during  those  spring  days  of 
1885  to  the  boys  at  the  Maltese  Cross.  The  Eatons' 
"  dude  ranch  "  had  developed  in  a  totally  unex- 
pected direction.  From  being  a  headquarters  for 
Easterners  who  wanted  to  hunt  in  a  wild  country, 
it  had  become  a  kind  of  refuge  to  which  wealthy 
and  distracted  parents  sent  such  of  their  offspring 
as  were  over-addicted  to  strong  drink.  Why  any 
parent  should  send  a  son  to  the  Bad  Lands  with  the 
idea  of  putting  him  out  of  reach  of  temptation  is 
beyond  comprehension.  The  Eatons  did  their  part 
nobly  and  withheld  intoxicating  drinks  from  their 
guests,  but  Bill  Williams  and  the  dozen  or  more 
other  saloon-keepers  in  Medora  were  under  no 
compulsion  to  follow  their  example.  The  "  dudes  " 
regularly  came  "  back  from  town  "  with  all  they 
could  carry  without  and  within;   and  the  cowboys 


HOSPITALITY  AT  YULE  261 

round  about  swore  solemnly  that  you  couldn't  put 
your  hand  in  the  crotch  of  any  tree  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  the  Eatons'  ranch-house  without  coming 
upon  a  bottle  concealed  by  a  dude  being  cured  of 
"  the  drink." 

The  neighbors  who  were  most  remote  from  Roose- 
velt in  point  of  space  continued  to  be  closest  in 
point  of  intimacy.  The  Langs  were  now  well  estab- 
lished and  Roosevelt  missed  no  opportunity  to 
visit  with  them  for  an  hour  or  a  day,  thinking 
nothing  apparently  of  the  eighty-mile  ride  there 
and  back  in  comparison  with  the  prospect  of  an 
evening  in  good  company.  The  Langs  were,  in 
fact,  excellent  company.  They  knew  books  and 
they  knew  also  the  graces  of  cultivated  society. 
To  visit  with  them  was  to  live  for  an  hour  or  two 
in  the  quietude  of  an  Old  World  home,  with  all 
the  Old  World's  refinements  and  the  added  tang 
of  bizarre  surroundings;  and  even  to  one  who 
was  exuberantly  glad  to  be  a  cowboy,  this  had 
its  moments  of  comfort  after  weeks  of  the  rough 
frontier  existence.  Cultivated  Englishmen  were 
constantly  appearing  at  the  Langs',  sent  over  by 
their  fathers,  for  reasons  sometimes  mysterious,  to 
stay  for  a  week  or  a  year.  Some  of  them  proved 
very  bad  cowboys,  but  all  of  them  were  delightful 
conversationalists.  Their  efforts  to  enter  into  the 
life  of  the  Bad  Lands  were  not  always  successful, 
and  Hell-Roaring  Bill  Jones  on  one  notable  occa- 
sion, when  the  son  of  a  Scotch  baronet  undertook 
to    criticize    him    for    misconduct,    expressed    his 


262       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

opinion  of  the  scions  of  British  aristocracy  that 
drifted  into  Medora,  in  terms  that  hovered  and 
poised  and  struck  Hke  birds  of  prey.  Lincoln  Lang, 
who  was  present,  described  Bill  Jones's  discourse 
as  "  outside  the  pale  of  the  worst  I  have  ever  heard 
uttered  by  human  mouth,"  which  meant  something 
in  that  particular  place.  But  Bill  Jones  was  an 
Irishman,  and  he  was  not  naturally  tolerant  of 
idiosyncrasies  of  speech  and  manner.  Roosevelt, 
on  the  whole,  liked  the  "  younger  sons,"  and  they 
in  turn  regarded  him  with  a  kind  of  awe.  He  was 
of  their  own  class,  and  yet  there  was  something 
in  him  which  stretched  beyond  the  barriers  which 
confined  them,  into  regions  where  they  were  lost 
and  bewildered,  but  he  was  completely  at  home. 

They  all  had  delightful  evenings  together  at 
Yule,  with  charades  and  punning  contests,  and  music 
on  the  piano  which  Lincoln  Lang  had  brought  out 
through  the  gumbo  against  all  the  protests  of  nature. 
Mrs.  Lang  was  an  admirable  cook  and  a  liberal 
and  hospitable  hostess,  which  was  an  added  reason 
for  riding  eighty  miles. 

To  the  Scotch  family,  exiled  far  up  the  Little 
Missouri,  Roosevelt's  visits  were  notable  events. 
"  We  enjoyed  having  him,"  said  Lincoln  Lang 
long  afterward,  "  more  than  anything  else  in  the 
world." 

To  Gregor  Lang,  Roosevelt's  visits  brought  an 
opportunity  for  an  argument  with  an  opponent 
worthy  of  his  steel.  The  Scotchman's  alert  intelli- 
gence   pined    sometimes,    in    those    intellectually 


LANG'S  LOVE  OF  DEBATE      263 

desolate  wastes,  for  exercise  in  the  keen  give-and- 
take  of  debate.  The  average  cowboy  was  not 
noted  for  his  conversational  powers,  and  Gregor 
Lang  clutched  avidly  at  every  possibility  of  talk. 
It  was  said  of  him  that  he  loved  a  good  argument  so 
much  that  it  did  not  always  make  much  difference 
to  him  which  side  of  the  argument  he  took.  On 
one  occasion  he  was  spending  the  night  at  the 
Eatons',  when  the  father  of  the  four  "  Eaton  boys  " 
was  visiting  his  sons.  "  Old  man  "  Eaton  was  a 
Republican;  Lang  was  a  Democrat.  They  began 
arguing  at  supper,  and  they  argued  all  night  long. 
To  Eaton,  his  Republicanism  was  a  religion  (as  it 
was  to  many  in  those  middle  eighties),  and  he 
wrestled  with  the  error  in  Lang's  soul  as  a  saint 
wrestles  with  a  devil.  As  the  day  dawned,  Gregor 
Lang  gave  an  exclamation  of  satisfaction.  "  It's 
been  a  fine  talk  we've  had,  Mistur-r  Eaton,"  he 
cried.  "  Now  suppose  you  tak'  my  side  and  I 
tak'  yours?  "  What  Eaton  said  thereupon  has  not 
been  recorded ;  but  Gregor  Lang  went  home  happy. 
With  all  his  love  for  forensics  as  such,  Lang  had 
solid  convictions.  They  were  a  Democrat's,  and  in 
consequence  many  of  them  were  not  Roosevelt's. 
Roosevelt  attacked  them  with  energy  and  Lang 
defended  them  with  skill.  Roosevelt,  who  loved 
rocking-chairs,  had  a  way  of  rocking  all  over  the 
room  in  his  excitement.  The  debates  were  long,  but 
always  friendly;  and  neither  party  ever  admitted 
defeat.  The  best  that  Gregor  Lang  would  say  was, 
"  Well,  Mr.  Roosevelt,  when  you  ar-re  Pr-resident 


264       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

of  the  United  States,  you  may  r-run  the  gover-m- 
ment  the  way  you  mind  to."  He  did  admit  in  the 
bosom  of  his  family,  however,  that  Roosevelt  made 
"  the  best  ar-rgument  for  the  other  side  "  he  had 
ever  heard. 

Lang's  love  of  an  argument,  which  to  unfriendly 
ears  might  have  sounded  like  contentiousness,  did 
not  serve  to  make  the  excellent  Scotchman  popular 
with  his  neighbors.  He  had  a  habit,  moreover, 
of  saying  exactly  what  he  thought,  regardless  of 
whom  he  might  hit.  He  was  not  politic  at  all.  He 
had,  in  fact,  come  to  America  and  to  Dakota  too 
late  in  life  altogether  to  adapt  a  mind,  steeped  in 
the  manners  and  customs  of  the  Old  World,  to  the 
new  conditions  of  a  country  in  almost  every  way 
alien  to  his  own.  He  was  dogmatic  in  his  theories 
of  popular  government  and  a  little  stubborn  in 
his  conviction  that  there  was  nothing  which  the 
uneducated  range-rider  of  the  Bad  Lands  could  teach 
a  thinking  man  like  him.  But  his  courage  was  fine. 
Against  the  protests  of  his  Southern  neighbors,  he 
insisted  on  treating  a  negro  cowboy  in  his  outfit  as 
on  complete  equality  with  his  white  employees;  and 
bore  the  storm  of  criticism  with  equanimity.  Such 
a  spirit  was  bound  to  appeal  to  Roosevelt. 

At  the  Maltese  Cross  there  was  a  steady  stream 
of  callers.  One  of  them,  a  hawk-eyed,  hawk-nosed 
cowpuncher  named  "  Nitch "  Kendley,  who  was 
one  of  the  first  settlers  in  the  region,  arrived  one 
day  when  Roosevelt  was  alone. 

"  Come  on  in,"  said  Roosevelt,  "  and  we'll  have 


NITCH  COMES  TO  DINE  265 

some  dinner.  I  can't  bake  biscuits,  but  I  can  cook 
meat.  If  you  can  make  the  biscuits,  go  ahead,  and 
I  will  see  what  I  can  do  for  the  rest  of  the  dinner." 

So  "  Nitch  "  made  the  biscuits  and  put  them  in 
the  oven,  and  Roosevelt  cut  what  was  left  of  a 
saddle  of  venison  and  put  it  in  a  pan  to  fry.  Then 
the  two  cooks  went  outdoors,  for  the  cabin  was 
small,  and  the  weather  was  hot. 

Roosevelt  began  to  talk,  whereupon  "  Nitch," 
who  had  ideas  of  his  own,  began  to  t^lk  also  with 
a  fluency  which  was  not  customary,  for  he  was 
naturally  a  taciturn  man.  They  both  forgot  the 
dinner.  "  Nitch  "  never  knew  how  long  they  talked. 

They  were  brought  back  to  the  world  of  facts  by 
a  smell  of  burning.  The  cabin  was  filled  with  smoke, 
and  "  you  could  not,"  as  "  Nitch  "  subsequently 
remarked,  "  have  told  your  wife  from  your  mother- 
in-law  three  feet  away."  On  investigation  it  proved 
that  "  Nitch's  "  biscuits  and  Roosevelt's  meat  were 
burnt  to  cinders. 

Merri field  and  Sylvane  were  out  after  deer,  and 
Roosevelt  and  his  companion  waited  all  afternoon 
in  vain  for  the  two  men  to  return.  At  last,  toward 
evening,  Roosevelt  made  some  coffee,  which,  as 
"  Nitch "  remarked,  "  took  the  rough  spots  off 
the  biscuits." 

"  If  w^e'd  talked  less,"  reflected  "  Nitch,"  "  we'd 
have  had  more  dinner." 

Roosevelt  laughed.  He  did  not  seem  to  mind  the 
loss  of  a  meal.  "  Nitch  "  was  quite  positive  that 
he  was  well  repaid.   They  went  on  talking  as  before. 


XVI 

He  went  so  high  above  the  earth, 

Lights  from  Jerusalem  shone. 
Right  that  we  parted  company, 

And  he  came  down  alone. 
I  hit  terra  firma, 

The  buckskin's  heels  struck  free, 
And  brought  a  bunch  of  stars  along 

To  dance  in  front  of  me. 

Cowboy  song 

Early  in  May,  Roosevelt's  men  returned  from  Fer- 
gus Falls  with  a  thousand  head  of  cattle.  In  a  let- 
ter to  his  brother,  Sewall  describes  what  he  terms 
the  "  Cattle  Torture,"  in  which  he  had  been  engaged. 
"  It  will  perhaps  interest  you,"  he  adds.  "  It  certainly 
must  have  been  interesting  to  the  cattle." 

The  cattle  were  driven  in  from  the  country  [Sewall 
writes]  and  put  in  a  yard.  This  was  divided  in  the  mid- 
dle by  a  fence  and  on  one  side  was  a  narrow  lane  where 
you  could  drive  six  or  eight  Cattle  at  a  time.  This  nar- 
rowed so  when  you  got  to  the  fence  in  the  middle  only 
one  could  pass  by  the  post,  and  beyond  the  post  there 
was  a  strong  gate  which  swang  off  from  the  side  fence 
at  the  top  so  to  leave  it  wide  enough  to  go  through. 
Well,  they  would  rush  them  into  the  shoot  and  when 
they  came  to  the  gate  would  let  it  swing  off  at  the  top. 
The  animal  would  make  a  rush  but  it  was  so  narrow 
at  the  bottom  it  would  bother  his  feet  and  there  was  a 
rope  went  from  the  top  of  the  gate  over  his  back  to  a 
lever  on  the  outside  of  the  yard.  While  he  was  trying  to 
get  through,  the  fellow  on  the  lever  would  catch  him 
with  the  gate  and  then  the  frying  began. 

They  had  two  good  big  fires  and  about  four  irons  in 


CATTLE  TORTURE  267 

each  and  they  would  put  an  iron  on  each  side.  One  is  a 

Triangle  about  four  inches  on  a  side,  the  other  an  Elk- 
horn  about  six  inches  long  with  two  prongs.  It  smelt 
around  there  as  if  Coolage  was  burning  Parkman,^  or 
was  it  Webster?  I  remember  hearing  father  read  about 
the  smell  of  meat  burning  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  I  kept 
thinking  of  that  and  Indians  burning  Prisoners  at  the 
stake.  Well,  we  burnt  them  all  in  less  than  a  day  and  a 
half  and  then  hustled  them  into  the  cars. 

They  of  course  did  not  get  much  to  eat  for  two  or 
three  days  before  they  started.  Then  we  put  from  50 
to  57  yearlings  in  a  carr  and  from  32  to  37  two  year  olds 
and  started.  The  poor  cattle  would  lay  down,  then  of 
course  as  many  as  could  stand  on  them  would  do  so. 
The  ones  that  got  down  would  stay  there  till  they  were 
completely  trod  under  and  smothered  unless  you  made 
them  get  up.  So  I  would  go  in  and  shove  and  crowd 
and  get  them  off  of  the  down  ones,  then  I  would  seize 
a  tail  and  the  man  with  me  would  punch  from  outside 
with  a  pole  with  a  brad  in  it.  This  would  invigorate 
the  annimal  as  he  used  the  pole  with  great  energy,  and 
with  my  help  they  would  get  up. 

I  did  not  dislike  the  work  though  it  was  very  warm 
and  the  cattle  were  rather  slippery  to  hold  on  to  after 
they  had  been  down,  but  it  was  lively  and  exciting 
climbing  from  one  carr  to  the  other  when  they  were 
going,  especially  in  the  night.  We  went  to  see  them  every 
time  they  stopped  and  some  times  we  did  not  have  time 
before  we  started.  Then  we  would  have  to  go  from  one 
to  the  other  while  they  were  going,  and  after  we  had 
got  through  run  back  over  the  tops  of  the  cars. 

Ours  were  all  alive  when  we  got  to  Medora.  How  they 
ever  lived  through,  I  don't  see.  John  Bean  would  liked 
to  have  bought  me  by  the  cord,  and  if  he  had  been  around 
Medora,  think  I  could  have  sold  myself  for  dressing. 

*  A  celebrated  murder  case  in  Boston. 


268       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Roosevelt  met  them  at  Medora  and  set  out  with 
them  to  drive  the  cattle  north  to  Elkhorn  Ranch. 
It  was  customary  to  drive  cattle  along  the  river 
bottom,  but  there  had  been  a  series  of  freshets 
that  spring  which  had  turned  the  Little  Missouri 
into  a  raging  torrent  and  its  bottom  into  a  mass  of 
treacherous  quicksands.  The  river  valley  would 
consequently  have  been  dangerous  even  for  mature 
stock.  For  the  young  cattle  the  dangers  of  the 
crossings  were  too  great  even  for  a  none  too  pru- 
dent man  to  hazard.  Accordingly  Roosevelt  decided 
to  drive  the  animals  down  along  the  divide  west  of 
Medora  between  the  Little  Missouri  and  the  Beaver. 

Owing  to  a  variety  of  causes,  the  preparations  for 
the  trip  had  been  inadequate.  He  had  only  five  men 
to  help  him;  Sewall  and  Dow  and  Rowe  and  two 
others.  Of  these,  only  one  was  a  cowpuncher  of  ex- 
perience. Roosevelt  placed  him  in  charge.  It  was 
not  long,  however,  before  he  discovered  that  this  man, 
who  was  a  first-rate  cowhand,  was  wholly  incapable 
of  acting  as  head.  Cattle  and  cowpunchers,  chuck- 
wagon  and  saddle-band,  in  some  fashion  which  no- 
body could  explain  became  so  snarled  up  with  each 
other  that,  after  disentangling  the  situation,  he  was 
forced  to  relegate  his  expert  to  the  ranks  and  take 
command  himself. 

His  course  lay,  for  the  most  part,  through  the 
Bad  Lands,  which  enormously  increased  the  diffi- 
culty of  driving  the  cattle.  A  herd  always  travels 
strung  out  in  lines,  and  a  thousand  head  thus  going 
almost  in  single  file  had  a  way  of  stretching  out  an 


TRAILING  CATTLE  269 

appreciable  distance,  with  the  strong,  speedy  an- 
imals in  the  van  and  the  weak  and  sluggish  ones  in- 
evitably in  the  rear,  Roosevelt  put  two  of  his  men 
at  the  head  of  the  column,  two  more  at  the  back,  and 
himself  with  another  man  rode  constantly  up  and 
down  the  flanks.  In  the  tangled  mass  of  rugged 
hills  and  winding  defiles  through  which  the  trail 
led,  it  was  no  easy  task  for  six  men  to  keep  the  cat- 
tle from  breaking  off  in  different  directions  or  pre- 
vent the  strong  beasts  that  formed  the  vanguard 
from  entirely  outstripping  the  laggards.  The  spare 
saddle-ponies  also  made  trouble,  for  several  of  them 
were  practically  unbroken. 

Slowly  and  with  infinite  difficulty  they  drove 
the  herd  northward.  To  add  to  their  troubles,  the 
weather  went  through  "a  gamut  of  changes,"  as 
Roosevelt  wrote  subsequently,  "with  that  extraor- 
dinary and  inconsequential  rapidity  which  charac- 
terizes atmospheric  variations  on  the  plains."  The 
second  day  out,  there  was  a  light  snow  falling  all 
day, with  a  wind  blowing  so  furiously  that  early  in 
the  afternoon  they  were  obliged  to  drive  the  cattle 
down  into  a  sheltered  valley  to  keep  them  overnight. 
The  cold  was  so  intense  that  even  in  the  sun  the 
water  froze  at  noon.  Forty-eight  hours  afterwards 
it  was  the  heat  that  was  causing  them  to  suffer. 

The  inland  trail  which  they  were  following  had  its 
disadvantages,  for  water  for  the  stock  was  scarce 
there,  and  the  third  day,  after  watering  the  cattle 
at  noon,  Roosevelt  and  his  men  drove  them  along 
the  very  backbone  of  the  divide  through  barren 


270       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

and  forbidding  country.  Night  came  on  while  they 
were  still  many  miles  from  the  string  of  deep 
pools  which  held  the  nearest  water.  The  cattle 
were  thirsty  and  restless,  and  in  the  first  watch, 
which  Roosevelt  shared  with  one  of  his  cowboys, 
when  the  long  northern  spring  dusk  had  given 
way  at  last  to  complete  darkness,  the  thirsty  ani- 
mals of  one  accord  rose  to  their  feet  and  made  a 
break  for  liberty.  Roosevelt  knew  that  the  only 
hope  of  saving  his  herd  from  hopeless  dispersion 
over  a  hundred  hills  lay  in  keeping  the  cattle  close 
together  at  the  very  start.  He  rode  along  at  their 
side  as  they  charged,  as  he  had  never  ridden  in  his 
life  before.  In  the  darkness  he  could  see  only  dimly 
the  shadowy  outline  of  the  herd,  as  with  whip  and 
spur  he  ran  his  pony  along  its  edge,  turning  back 
the  beasts  at  one  point  barely  in  time  to  wheel 
and  keep  them  in  at  another.  The  ground  was 
cut  up  by  numerous  gullies,  and  more  than  once 
Roosevelt's  horse  turned  a  complete  somersault 
with  his  rider.  Why  he  was  not  killed  a  half-dozen 
times  over  is  a  mytsery.  He  was  dripping  with 
sweat,  and  his  pony  was  quivering  like  a  quaking 
aspen  when,  after  more  than  an  hour  of  the  most 
violent  exertion,  he  and  his  companion  finally 
succeeded  in  quieting  the  herd. 

I  have  had  hard  work  and  a  good  deal  of  fun  since 
I  came  out  [Roosevelt  wrote  to  Lodge  on  the  fifteenth  of 
May].  To-morrow  I  start  for  the  round-up;  and  I  have 
just  come  in  from  taking  a  thousand  head  of  cattle  up 
pn  the  trail.    The  weather  was  very  bad  and   I  had 


ROOSEVELT'S  HORSEMANSHIP  271 

my  hands  full,  working  night  and  day,  and  being  able 
to  take  off  my  clothes  but  once  during  the  week  I  was 
out. 

The  river  has  been  very  high  recently,  and  I  have 
had  on  two  or  three  occasions  to  swim  my  horse  across 
it;  a  new  experience  to  me.  Otherwise  I  ha\e  done 
little  that  is  exciting  in  the  way  of  horsemanship;  as 
you  know  I  am  no  horseman,  and  I  cannot  ride  an  un- 
broken horse  with  any  comfort.  The  other  day  I  lunched 
with  the  Marquis  de  Mores,  a  French  cavalry  officer; 
he  has  hunted  all  through  France,  but  he  told  me  he 
never  saw  in  Europe  such  stiff  jumping  as  we  have  on 
the  Meadowbrook  hunt. 

Whether  he  was  or  was  not  a  horseman  is  a  ques- 
tion on  which  there  is  authority  which  clashes  with 
Roosevelt's,  A  year's  experience  wdth  broncos  had 
taught  him  much,  and  though  Sylvane  remained 
indisputably  the  crack  rider  of  the  Maltese  Cross 
outfit,  Roosevelt  more  than  held  his  own.  "  He 
was  not  a  purty  rider,"  as  one  of  his  cowpunching 
friends  expressed  it,  "  but  a  hell  of  a  good  rider." 

Roosevelt  was  a  firm  believer  in  "  gentling " 
rather  than  "  breaking  "  horses.  He  had  no  senti- 
mental illusions  concerning  the  character  of  the 
animals  with  which  he  was  dealing,  but  he  never 
ceased  his  efforts  to  make  a  friend  instead  of  a 
suspicious  servant  of  a  horse.  Most  of  Roosevelt's 
horses  became  reasonably  domesticated,  but  there 
was  one  that  resisted  all  Roosevelt's  friendly 
advances.  He  was  generally  regarded  as  a  fiend 
incarnate.    "  The  Devil  "  was  his  name. 

"  The   trouble   with    training    the    Devil,"    said 


272       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Packard,  who  was  present  at  the  Maltese  Cross  one 
day  when  Roosevelt  was  undertaking  to  ride  him, 
"  was  that  he  was  a  wild  four-year-old  when  first 
ridden  and  this  first  contest  was  a  victory  for  the 
horse.  If  the  rider  had  won,  Devil  might  have 
become  a  good  saddle  horse.  But  when  the  horse 
wins  the  first  contest,  one  can  look  for  a  fight  every 
time  he  is  saddled.  The  chances  favor  his  becoming 
a  spoiled  horse.  I  happened  to  arrive  at  the  Chim- 
ney Butte  Ranch  one  day  just  as  the  horse-herd 
was  being  driven  into  the  corral.  Devil  knew  he 
was  due  for  a  riding-lesson.  It  was  positively  un- 
canny to  see  him  dodge  the  rope.  On  several  oc- 
casions he  stopped  dead  in  his  tracks  and  threw  his 
head  down  between  his  front  legs;  the  loop  slid- 
ing harmlessly  off  his  front  quarters,  where  not  even 
an  ear  projected.  But  Devil  couldn't  watch  two 
ropes  at  once,  and  Roosevelt  '  snared  '  him  from 
the  corral  fence  while  Merrifield  was  whirling  his 
rope  for  the  throw.  Instantly  Devil  stopped  and 
meekly  followed  Roosevelt  to  the  snubbing-post, 
where  he  was  tied  up  for  a  period  of  '  gentling.' 
The  ordinary  procedure  was  to  throw  such  a  horse 
and  have  one  man  sit  on  his  head  while  another 
bound  a  handkerchief  over  his  eyes.  He  was  then 
allowed  to  get  on  his  feet  and  often  made  little 
resistance  while  the  saddle  and  bridle  were  being 
adjusted.  The  rider  then  mounted  and  the  fire- 
works began  as  soon  as  he  jerked  the  handkerchief 
from  the  horse's  eyes. 

"  Devil  had  gone  through  this  procedure  so  often 


GENTLING  THE  DEVIL  273 

that  he  knew  it  by  heart.  He  had,  however,  not 
become  accustomed  to  being  '  gentled  '  instead  of 
'  busted.'  As  Roosevelt  walked  toward  him,  the 
horse's  fear  of  man  overcame  his  dread  of  the  rope, 
and  he  surged  back  until  the  noose  was  strangling 
him. 

"It  was  half  an  hour  before  he  allowed  Roosevelt 
to  put  a  hand  on  his  neck.  All  this  was  preliminary 
to  an  attempt  to  blindfolding  Devil  without  throw- 
ing, and  at  last  it  was  accomplished.  He  then 
submitted  to  being  saddled  and  bridled,  though  he 
shrank  from  every  touch  as  though  it  were  a  hot 
iron.  The  handkerchief  was  then  taken  from  his 
eyes,  and  he  began  bucking  the  empty  saddle  like 
a  spoiled  horse  of  the  worst  t>'pe.  Ever>'  one  took 
a  seat  on  top  of  the  corral  fence  to  await  the  time 
when  he  had  strangled  and  tired  himself  to  a  stand- 
still. Several  times  he  threw  himself  heavily  by 
tripping  on  the  rope  or  by  tightening  it  suddenly. 
And  at  last  he  gave  it  up,  standing  with  legs  braced, 
with  heaving  flanks  and  gasping  breath. 

"  Roosevelt  walked  toward  him  with  a  pail  of 
water  and  the  first  real  sign  that  *  gentling  '  was 
better  than  *  busting '  was  when  the  wild-eyed 
Devil  took  a  swallow;  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
had  accepted  a  favor  from  the  hand  of  man.  It 
was  too  dangerous  to  attempt  riding  in  the  corral, 
and  Devil  was  led  out  to  some  bottom-land  which 
was  fairly  level;  the  end  of  the  rope  around  the 
horn  of  Merrifield's  saddle  and  Sylvane  Ferris  on 
another  saddle  horse  ready  to  urge  Devil  into  a 


274       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

run  as  soon  as  Roosevelt  had  mounted.  A  vain 
attempt  at  mounting  was  made,  and  finally  Devil 
had  to  be  blindfolded.  Then  came  the  mounting, 
and,  almost  instantly  with  the  lifting  of  the  blind- 
fold, Roosevelt  was  sprawling  in  the  sagebrush. 
Somewhat  scratched  he  was,  and  his  teeth  glittered 
in  the  way  which  required  a  look  at  his  eyes  to  tell 
whether  it  was  a  part  of  a  smile  or  a  look  of  deadly 
determination.  It  required  no  second  glance  to 
know  that  Devil  was  going  to  be  ridden  or  Roosevelt 
was  going  to  be  hurt.  There  was  no  disgrace  in 
being  thrown.  It  was  done  in  the  same  way  that 
Devil  had  unhorsed  other  men  whom  Roosevelt 
would  have  been  first  to  call  better  riders  than 
himself.  There  was  a  sudden  arching  of  the  back 
which  jolted  the  rider  at  least  six  inches  from  the 
saddle,  then  a  whirling  jump  which  completed  a 
half-turn,  and  a  landing,  stiff-legged,  on  the  fore 
feet  while  the  hind  hoofs  kicked  high  in  the  air. 
In  his  six-inch  descent  the  rider  was  met  with  the 
saddle  or  the  flanks  of  the  horse  and  catapulted 
into  space.  The  only  way  to  '  stay  with  the  leather  ' 
was  to  get  the  horse  to  running  instead  of  making 
this  first  jump. 

"  About  every  other  jump  we  could  see  twelve 
acres  of  bottom-land  between  Roosevelt  and  the 
saddle,  but  now  the  rider  stayed  with  the  animal 
a  little  longer  than  before.  Four  times  that  beast 
threw  him,  but  the  fifth  time  Roosevelt  maneuvered 
him  into  a  stretch  of  quicksand  in  the  Little  Mis- 
souri River.   This  piece  of  strategy  saved  the  day, 


THE  SPRING  ROUND-UP  275 

made  Roosevelt  a  winner,  and  broke  the  record  of 
the  Devil,  for  if  there  is  any  basis  of  operations 
fatal  to  fancy  bucking  it  is  quicksand.  After  a 
while  Roosevelt  turned  the  bronco  around,  brought 
him  out  on  dry  land,  and  rode  him  until  he  was  as 
meek  as  a  rabbit." 

The  round-up  that  spring  gave  Roosevelt  an 
opportunity  to  put  his  horsemanship  to  the  severest 
test  there  was. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  is  now  at  Medora  [the  Mandan 
Pioneer  reported  on  May  22d],  and  has  been  there  for 
some  time  past.  He  is  preparing  his  outfit  for  the  round- 
up, and  will  take  an  active  part  in  the  business  itself. 

Roosevelt  had,  in  fact,  determined  to  w^ork  with 
the  round-up  as  an  ordinary  cowpuncher,  and 
shortly  after  the  middle  of  May  he  started  with 
his  "  outfit  "  south  to  the  appointed  meeting- place 
west  of  the  mouth  of  Box  Elder  Creek  in  south- 
eastern Montana.  With  him  were  all  the  regular 
cowboys  of  the  Maltese  Cross,  besides  a  half-dozen 
other  "  riders,"  and  Walter  Watterson,  a  sandy- 
haired  and  faithful  being  who  drove  Tony  and 
Dandy,  the  wheel  team,  and  Thunder  and  Light- 
ning, the  leaders,  hitched  to  the  rumbling  "  chuck- 
wagon."  Watterson  was  also  the  cook,  and  in 
both  capacities  was  unexcelled.  Each  cowpuncher 
attached  to  the  "  outfit,"  or  to  "  the  wagon  "  as  it 
was  called  on  the  round-up,  had  his  own  "  string" 
of  ten  or  a  dozen  ponies,  thrown  together  into  a 
single  herd  which  was  in  charge  of  the  "  horse- 
wranglers,"  one  for  the  night  and  one  for  the  morn- 


276       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

ing,  customarily  the  youngest  (and  most  abused) 
cowboys  on  the  ranch. 

Roosevelt's  "  string  "  was  not  such  as  to  make  him 
look  forward  to  the  round-up  with  easy  assurance. 
He  had  not  felt  that  he  had  a  right,  even  as  "  the 
boss,"  to  pick  the  best  horses  for  himself  out  of  the 
saddle  band  of  the  Maltese  Cross.  With  Sylvane, 
Merrifield,  Myers,  and  himself  choosing  in  suc- 
cession, like  boys  picking  teams  for  "one  ol'  cat," 
"  the  boss  "  having  first  choice  on  each  round,  he 
took  what  Fate  and  his  own  imperfect  judgment 
gave  him.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  "  picking,"  he 
found  that,  of  the  nine  horses  he  had  chosen,  four 
were  broncos,  broken  only  in  the  sense  that  each 
had  once  or  twice  been  saddled.  One  of  them,  he 
discovered  promptly,  could  not  possibly  be  bridled 
or  saddled  single-handed;  it  was  very  difficult  to 
get  on  him  and  very  difficult  to  get  off;  he  was 
exceedingly  nervous,  moreover,  if  his  rider  moved 
his  hands  or  feet;  "  but  he  had,"  Roosevelt  de- 
clared, "  no  bad  tricks,"  which,  in  view  of  his  other 
qualities,  must  have  been  a  real  comfort.  The 
second  allowed  himself  to  be  tamed  and  was  soon 
quiet.  The  third,  on  the  other  hand,  turned  out 
to  be  one  of  the  worst  buckers  Roosevelt  possessed ; 
and  the  fourth  had  a  habit  which  was  even  worse, 
for  he  would  balk  and  throw  himself  over  backward. 
It  struck  Roosevelt  that  there  was  something 
about  this  refractory  animal's  disposition,  to  say 
nothing  of  his  Roman  nose,  which  greatly  reminded 
him  of  the  eminent  Democrat,  General  Ben  Butler, 


THE   MALTESE  CROSS    ■OUTFIT' 


iiih   :\i.vLic.-t  CROSS     '  CHUCK-WAGON   " 

The  man  on  horseback  is  Sylvane  Ferris;  the  man  loading  the 
wagon  is  Walter  W'atterson,  Roosevelt's  teamster  and  cook 


THE  FIRST  ENCAMPMENT  277 

and   "  Ben  Butler "   became  that  bronco's  name. 
Roosevelt  had  occasion  to  remember  it. 

The  encampment  where  the  round-up  was  to 
begin  furnished  a  scene  of  bustle  and  turmoil. 
From  here  and  there  the  heavy  four-horse  wagons 
one  after  another  jolted  in,  the  "  horse-wranglers  " 
rushing  madly  to  and  fro  in  the  endeavor  to  keejD 
the  different  saddle  bands  from  mingling.  Single 
riders,  in  groups  of  two  or  three,  appeared,  each 
driving  his  "  string."  The  wagons  found  their 
places,  the  teamsters  unharnessed  the  horses  and 
unpacked  the  "  cook  outfit,"  the  foreman  sought 
out  the  round-up  captain,  the  "  riders "  sought 
out  their  friends.  Here  there  was  larking,  there 
there  was  horse-racing,  elsew^here  there  w^as  "  a 
circus  with  a  pitchin'  bronc',"  and  foot-races  and 
WTestling-matches.  A  round-up  always  had  more 
than  a  little  of  the  character  of  a  county  fair.  For 
though  the  work  was  hard,  and  practically  continu- 
ous for  sixteen  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four,  it  was 
full  of  excitement.  The  cowboys  regarded  it  largely 
as  sport,  and  the  five  weeks  they  spent  at  it  very 
much  of  a  holiday.^ 

1  Roosevelt:  Ranch  Life  and  the  Hunting  Trail. 

"Am  inclined  to  think  that  this  assertion  of  Mr.  Roosevelt's  would  be 
open  to  criticism  on  the  part  of  the  real  old-time  cowpunchers.  Much 
depended  upon  the  weather,  of  course,  but  in  a  general  way  most  of 
them  regarded  the  work  as  anything  but  a  picnic.  Usually,  it  came 
closer  to  being  'Hell,'  before  we  got  through  with  it,  as  was  the  case 
on  that  particular  round-up  in  1885,  when  Mr.  Roosevelt  was  along. 
Rained  much  of  the  time,  and  upon  one  occasion  kept  at  it  for  a  week 
on  end.  Tied  the  whole  outfit  up  for  several  days  at  one  point  and  I 
recall  we  had  to  wring  the  water  out  of  our  blankets  every  night  be- 


278       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Roosevelt  reported  to  the  captain  of  the  round- 
up, a  man  named  Osterhaut,  saying  that  he  expected 
to  be  treated  as  a  common  cowhand  and  wanted 
to  be  shown  no  favors;  and  the  captain  took  him 
at  his  word.  He  promptly  justified  his  existence. 
He  did  not  pretend  to  be  a  good  roper,  and  his 
poor  eyesight  forbade  any  attempt  to  "  cut  "  the 
cattle  that  bore  his  brand  out  of  the  milling  herd; 
but  he  "  wrestled  calves  "  with  the  best  of  them; 
he  rode  "the  long  circle";  he  guarded  the  day- 
herd  and  the  night-herd  and  did  the  odd  (and 
often  perilous)  jobs  of  the  cowpuncher  with  the 
same  cool  unconcern  that  characterized  the  pro- 
fessional cowboy. 

"  Three-Seven  "  Bill  Jones  was  on  the  round- 
up as  foreman  of  the  "  Three-Seven  Ranch." 
("  There,"  as  Howard  Eaton  remarked  with  enthu- 
siasm, "  was  a  cowboy  for  your  whiskers!  ")  He 
was  a  large,  grave,  taciturn  man,  capable  of  almost 
incredible  feats  of  physical  endurance.  Dantz  over- 
heard him,  one  day,  discussing  Roosevelt. 

"  That  four-eyed  maverick,"  remarked  "  Three- 
Seven  "  Bill,  "  has  sand  in  his  craw  a-plenty." 

fore  retiring.  The  boys  liked  to  work  on  general  round-ups,  hard  and 
all  as  they  were,  mainly  because  it  brought  them  into  contact  with  the 
boys  from  other  ranges,  so  that  they  had  a  chance  to  renew  old  acquaint- 
ances. Generally  the  boys  were  all  inclined  to  be  a  little  wild  at  the 
start,  or  until  cooled  down  by  a  few  days  of  hard  work.  After  that 
things  got  into  a  steady  groove,  eighteen  hours  per  day  in  the  saddle 
being  nothing  unusual. 

"At  the  start,  the  round-up  bore  many  of  the  aspects  of  a  county 
fair,  just  as  Mr.  Roosevelt  states,  and  unless  the  trip  proved  to 
be  unusually  hard  there  was  always  more  or  less  horse-play  in  the 
air." —  Lincoln  Lang. 


THE  DAY'S  WORK  279 

As  with  all  other  forms  of  work  [Roosevelt  wrote  years 
after],  so  on  the  round-up,  a  man  of  ordinary  power, 
who  nevertheless  does  not  shirk  things  merely  because 
they  are  disagreeable  or  irksome,  soon  earns  his  place. 
There  were  crack  riders  and  ropers,  who,  just  because 
they  felt  such  overweening  pride  in  their  own  prowess, 
were  not  really  very  \^aluable  men.  Continually  on  the 
circles  a  cow  or  a  calf  would  get  into  some  thick  patch  of 
bulberry  bush  and  refuse  to  come  out;  or  when  it  was 
getting  late  we  would  pass  some  bad  lands  that  would 
probably  not  contain  cattle,  but  might;  or  a  steer  would 
turn  fighting  mad,  or  a  calf  grow  tired  and  want  to  lie 
down.  If  in  such  a  case  the  man  steadily  persists  in 
doing  the  unattractive  thing,  and  after  two  hours  of 
exasperation  and  harassment  does  finally  get  the  cow 
out,  and  keep  her  out,  of  the  bulberry  bushes,  and  drives 
her  to  the  wagon,  or  finds  some  animals  that  have  been 
passed  by  in  the  fourth  or  fifth  patch  of  bad  lands  he 
hunts  through,  or  gets  the  calf  up  on  his  saddle  and  takes 
it  in  anyhow,  the  foreman  soon  grows  to  treat  him  as 
having  his  uses  and  as  being  an  asset  of  worth  in  the 
round-up,  even  though  neither  a  fancy  roper  nor  a  fancy 
rider.  ^ 

It  was  an  active  life,^  and  Roosevelt  had  no 
opportunity  to  complain  of  restlessness.  Breakfast 
came  at  three  and  dinner  at  eight  or  nine  or  ten  in 
the  morning,  at  the  conclusion  sometimes  of  fifty 
miles  of  breakneck  riding.  From  ten  to  one,  while 
the  experts  were  "  cutting  out  the  cows,"  Roosevelt 
was  "  on  day-herd,"  as  the  phrase  went,  riding 
slowly  round  and  round  the  herd,  turning  back  into 

^  Autobiography. 

^  Roosevelt  gives  an  admirable  description  of  a  round-up  in  his 
Ranch  Life  and  the  Hunting  Trail. 


28o       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

it  any  cattle  that  attempted  to  escape.  In  the 
afternoon  he  would  "  ride  circle  "  again,  over  the 
hills;  and  at  night,  from  ten  to  twelve,  he  would 
again  be  on  guard,  riding  round  the  cattle,  humming 
some  eerie  lullaby.  It  was  always  the  same  song 
that  he  sang,  but  what  the  words  were  or  the 
melody  is  a  secret  that  belongs  to  the  wind. 

When  utterly  tired,  it  was  hard  to  have  to  get  up  for 
one's  trick  at  night-herd  [Roosevelt  wrote  in  his  "  Auto- 
biography "].  Nevertheless  on  ordinary  nights  the  two 
hours  round  the  cattle  in  the  still  darkness  were  pleasant. 
The  loneliness,  under  the  vast  empty  sky,  and  the  silence 
in  which  the  breathing  of  the  cattle  sounded  loud,  and 
the  alert  readiness  to  meet  any  emergency  which  might 
suddenly  arise  out  of  the  formless  night,  all  combined 
to  give  one  a  sense  of  subdued  interest. 

As  he  lay  on  the  ground  near  by,  after  his  watch, 
he  liked  to  listen  to  the  wild  and  not  unmusical 
calls  of  the  cowboys  as  they  rode  round  the  half- 
slumbering  steers.  There  was  something  magical  in 
the  strange  sound  of  it  under  the  stars.  Now  and 
then  a  song  would  float  through  the  clear  air. 

"  The  days  that  I  was  hard  up, 
I  never  shall  forget. 
The  days  that  I  was  hard  up  — 
I  may  be  well  off  yet. 
In  days  when  I  was  hard  up, 
And  wanted  wood  and  fire, 
I  used  to  tie  my  shoes  up 
With  little  bits  of  wire." 

It  was  a  favorite  song  with  the  night-herders. 
Qne    night,    early    in    the    round-up,    Roosevelt 


DIVERSIONS  281 

failed  satisfactorily  to  identify  the  direction  in 
which  he  was  to  go  in  order  to  reach  the  night-herd. 
It  was  a  pitch-dark  night,  and  he  wandered  about 
in  it  for  hours  on  end,  finding  the  cattle  at  last 
only  when  the  sun  rose.  He  was  greeted  with 
withering  scorn  by  the  injured  cowpuncher  who  had 
been  obliged  to  stand  double  guard  because  Roose- 
velt had  failed  to  relieve  him. 

Sixteen  hours  of  work  left  little  time  for  social 
diversions,  but  even  when  they  were  full  of  sleep 
the  cowboys  would  draw  up  around  the  camp-fire, 
to  smoke  and  sing  and  "  swap  yarns  "  for  an  hour. 
There  were  only  three  musical  instruments  in  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  Bad  Lands,  the  Langs' 
piano,  a  violin  which  "  Fiddling  Joe  "  played  at 
the  dances  over  Bill  Williams's  saloon,  and  Howard 
Eaton's  banjo.  The  banjo  traveled  in  state  in  the 
mess-wagon  of  the  "  Custer  Trail,"  and  hour  on 
hour,  about  the  camp-fire  on  the  round-up,  Eaton 
would  play  to  the  dreamy  delight  of  the  weary  men. 
The  leading  spirit  of  those  evenings  was  Bill  Dantz, 
who  knew  a  hundred  songs  by  heart,  and  could 
spin  an  actual  happening  into  a  yarn  so  thrilling 
and  so  elaborate  in  every  detail  that  no  one  could 
tell  precisely  where  the  foundation  of  fact  ended 
and  the  Arabian  dome  and  minaret  of  iridescent 
fancy  began. 

Roosevelt  found  the  cowboys  excellent  compan- 
ions. They  were  a  picturesque  crew  with  their 
broad  felt  hats,  their  flannel  shirts  of  various 
colors,  overlaid  with  an  enamel  of  dust  and  per- 


282       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

spiration,  baked  by  the  Dakota  sun,  their  bright 
silk  handkerchiefs  knotted  round  the  neck,  their 
woolly  **  shaps,"  their  great  silver  spurs,  their 
loosely  hanging  cartridge-belts,  their  ominous  re- 
volvers. Roosevelt  was  struck  by  the  rough  courtesy 
with  which  the  men  treated  each  other.  There 
was  very  little  quarreling  or  fighting,  due,  Roosevelt 
suspected,  to  the  fact  that  all  the  men  were  armed; 
for,  it  seemed,  that  when  a  quarrel  was  likely  to 
end  fatally,  men  rather  hesitated  about  embarking 
upon  it.  The  moral  tone  of  the  round-up  camp 
seemed  to  Roosevelt  rather  high.  There  was  a 
real  regard  for  truthfulness,  a  firm  insistence  on 
the  sanctity  of  promises,  and  utter  contempt  for 
meanness  and  cowardice  and  dishonesty  and  hy- 
pocrisy and  the  disposition  to  shirk.  The  cow- 
puncher  was  a  potential  cattle-owner  and  good 
citizen,  and  if  he  went  wild  on  occasion  it  was  largely 
because  he  was  so  exuberantly  young.  In  years  he 
was  generally  a  boy,  often  under  twenty.  But  he 
did  the  work  of  a  man,  and  he  did  it  with  singular 
conscientiousness  and  the  spirit  less  of  an  employee 
than  of  a  member  of  an  order  bound  by  vows,  un- 
spoken but  accepted.  He  obeyed  orders  without 
hesitation,  though  it  were  to  mount  a  bucking 
bronco  or  "  head  off  "  a  stampede.  He  worked 
without  complaint  in  a  smother  of  dust  and  cattle 
fumes  at  temperatures  ranging  as  high  as  136 
degrees;  or,  snow-blinded  and  frozen,  he  "  rode 
line  "  for  hours  on  end  when  the  thermometer  was 
fifty  or  more  below  zero.   He  was  in  constant  peril 


PROFANITY  283 

of  his  life  from  the  horns  of  milHng  cattle  or  the 
antics  of  a  "  mean  "  horse.  Roosevelt  was  im- 
mensely drawn  to  the  sinewy,  hardy,  and  self- 
reliant  adventurers;   and  they  in  turn  liked  him. 

Life  in  the  camps  was  boisterous  and  the  language 
beggared  description. 

"  With  some  of  these  fellows  around  here,"  Dr. 
Stickney,  the  Bad  Lands'  surgeon,  once  remarked, 
"  profanity-  ceases  to  be  a  habit  and  becomes  an 
art." 

"  That's  right,"  assented  Sylvane.  "  Some  stran- 
gers will  get  the  hang  of  it,  but  others  never  do. 
There  was  '  Deacon '  Cummins,  for  instance.  He'd 
say  such  a  thing  as  'damned  calf.'  You  could 
tell  he  didn't  know  anything  about  it." 

The  practical  jokes,  moreover,  which  the  cowboys 
played  on  each  other  were  not  such  as  to  make 
life  easy  for  the  timid.  "  The  bo3^s  played  all  kinds 
of  tricks,"  remarked  Merrifield  long  after;  "  some- 
times they'd  stick  things  under  the  horses'  tails  and 
play  tricks  of  that  kind  an'  there'd  be  a  lot  of  hilarity 
to  see  the  fellow  get  h'isted  into  the  air;  but  they 
never  bothered  Mr.  Roosevelt.  He  commanded 
everybody's  respect." 

They  did  play  one  joke  on  him,  however,  but  it 
did  not  turn  out  at  all  as  they  expected. 

Roosevelt's  hunting  proclivities  were  well  known, 
for  he  never  missed  an  opportunity,  even  on  the 
round-up,  to  wander  up  some  of  the  countless 
coulees  with  a  rifle  on  his  shoulder  after  deer,  or 
to  ride  away  over  the  prairies  after  antelope;    and 


284       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

the  cowpunchers  decided  that  it  would  be  rather 
good  fun  to  send  him  on  a  wild-goose  chase.  So 
they  told  him  with  great  seriousness  of  a  dozen 
antelope  they  had  seen  five  or  six  miles  back, 
suggesting  that  he  had  better  go  and  get  one. 

He  "  bit,"  as  they  knew  he  would,  and,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  he  had  had  a  hard  day  on  the  round- 
up, saddled  a  horse  and  rode  off  in  the  direction 
which  they  had  indicated.  The  cowboys  specu- 
lated as  to  the  language  he  would  use  when  he  came 
back. 

He  was  gone  several  hours,  and  he  had  two  an- 
telope across  his  saddle-bow  when  he  rode  back  into 
camp. 

"  I  found  them  all  right,"  he  cried,  "  just  a 
quarter-mile  from  where  you  said." 

There  was  a  shout  from  the  cowboys.  By  general 
consent  the  joke  was  declared  as  not  to  be  on  the 
"  four-eyed  tenderfoot." 

Most  of  the  men  sooner  or  later  accepted  Roose- 
velt as  an  equal,  in  spite  of  his  toothbrush  and  his 
habit  of  shaving;  but  there  was  one  man,  a  surly 
Texan,  who  insisted  on  "  picking  on  "  Roosevelt 
as  a  dude.  Roosevelt  laughed.  But  the  man  con- 
tinued, in  season  and  out  of  season,  to  make  him 
the  butt  of  his  gibes. 

It  occurred  to  the  object  of  all  this  attention  that 
the  Texan  was  evidently  under  the  impression  that 
the  "  dude  "  was  also  a  coward.  Roosevelt  decided 
that,  for  the  sake  of  general  harmony,  that  impres- 
sion had  better  be  corrected  at  once, 


FIGHT  OR  BE  FRIENDS!  285 

One  evening,  when  the  man  was  being  particularly 
offensive,  Roosevelt  strode  up  to  him. 

"  You're  talking  like  an  ass!  "  he  said  sharply. 
"  Put  up  or  shut  up!     Fight  now,  or  be  friends!  " 

The  Texan  stared,  his  shoulder  dropped  a  little, 
and  he  shifted  his  feet.  "  I  didn't  mean  no  harm," 
he  said.    "  Make  it  friends." 

They  made  it  friends. 


XVII 

At  a  round-up  on  the  Gily, 

One  sweet  mornin'  long  ago, 
Ten  of  us  was  throwed  right  freely 

By  a  hawse  from  Idaho. 
And  we  thought  he'd  go  a-beggin* 

For  a  man  to  break  his  pride, 
Till,  a-hitchin'  up  one  leggin', 

Boastful  Bill  cut  loose  and  cried  — 

"  Fm  an  on'ry  proposiHon  for  to  hurt; 
I  fulfill  my  earthly  mission  with  a  quirt;\ 
I  kin  ride  the  highest  liver 
'Tween  the  Gulf  and  Powder  River, 
And  I'll  break  this  thing  as  easy  as  I'd  flirt." 

So  Bill  climbed  the  Northern  Fury, 

And  they  mangled  up  the  air. 
Till  a  native  of  Missouri 

Would  have  owned  his  brag  was  fair. 
Though  the  plunges  kep'  him  reelin' 

And  the  wind  it  flapped  his  shirt, 
Loud  above  the  hawse's  squealin' 

We  could  hear  our  friend  assert  — 

"  I'm  the  one  to  take  such  rakin's  as  a  joke. 
Some  one  hand  me  up  the  makin's  of  a  smoke! 
If  you  think  my  fame  needs  bright'nin', 
W'y,  I'll  rope  a  streak  of  lightnin'. 
And  I'll  cinch  'im  up  and  spur  'im  till  he's  broke." 

Then  one  caper  of  repulsion 

Broke  that  hawse's  back  in  two. 
Cinches  snapped  in  the  convulsion; 

Skyward  man  and  saddle  flew. 
Up  he  mounted,  never  laggin'. 

While  we  watched  him  through  our  tears, 
And  his  last  thin  bit  of  braggin' 

Came  a-droppin'  to  our  ears  — 

"  //  you'd  ever  watched  my  habits  very  close, 

You  would  know  I've  broke  such  rabbits  by  the  gross, 

I  have  kep'  my  talent  hidin'; 

I'm  too  good  for  earthly  ridin'. 

And  I'm  off  to  bust  the  lightnin'  —  AdiosI  " 

Badger  Clare 


THE  MEAN  HORSE  287 

If  Roosevelt  anticipated  that  he  would  have  trouble 
with  his  untamed  broncos,  he  was  not  disappointed. 
"  The  effort,"  as  he  subsequently  remarked,  "  both 
to  ride  them,  and  to  look  as  if  I  enjoyed  doing  so, 
on  some  cool  morning  when  my  grinning  cowboy 
friends  had  gathered  round  'to  see  whether  the  high- 
headed  bay  could  buck  the  boss  off,'  doubtless 
was  of  benefit  to  me,  but  lacked  much  of  being 
enjoyable." 

One  morning,  when  the  round-up  "  outfits  "  were 
camped  on  the  Logging  Camp  Range,  south  of  the 
Big  Ox  Bow,  Roosevelt  had  a  memorable  struggle 
with  one  of  his  four  broncos.  The  camp  was  directly 
behind  the  ranch-house  (which  the  Eaton  brothers 
owned),  and  close  by  was  a  chasm  some  sixty  feet 
deep,  a  great  gash  in  the  valley  which  the  torrents 
of  successive  springs  had  through  the  centuries  cut 
there.  The  horse  had  to  be  blind-folded  before  he 
would  allow  a  saddle  to  be  put  on  him. 

Lincoln  Lang  was  among  the  cowboys  who  stood 
in  an  admiring  circle,  hoping  for  the  worst. 

"  Mr.  Roosevelt  mounted,  with  the  blind  still 
on  the  horse,"  Lang  said,  telling  the  story  after- 
ward, "  so  that  the  horse  stood  still,  although  with 
a  well-defined  hump  on  his  back,  which,  as  we  all 
knew  very  well,  meant  trouble  to  come.  As  soon 
as  Mr.  Roosevelt  got  himself  fixed  in  the  saddle, 
the  men  who  were  holding  the  horse  pulled  off  the 
blind  and  turned  him  loose." 

Here  Bill  Dantz,  who  was  also  in  the  "  gallery," 
takes  up  the  story: 


288       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

"  The  horse  did  not  buck.  He  started  off  quietly, 
in  fact,  until  he  was  within  a  few  feet  of  the  chasm. 
Then  he  leapt  in  the  air  like  a  shot  deer,  and  came 
down  with  all  four  feet  buckled  under  him,  jumped 
sideways  and  went  in  the  air  a  second  time,  twisting 
ends." 

Here  Lang  resumes  the  narrative: 

"  Almost  any  kind  of  a  bucking  horse  is  hard  to 
ride,  but  the  worst  of  all  are  the  '  sunfishers  '  who 
change  end  for  end  with  each  jump,  maintaining 
the  turning  movement  in  one  direction  so  that  the 
effect  is  to  get  the  rider  dizzy.  This  particular 
horse  was  of  that  type,  and  almost  simultaneous 
with  the  removal  of  the  blind  he  was  in  gyroscopic 
action. 

"  I  am  aware  that  Mr.  Roosevelt  did  not  like  to 
*  pull  leather,'  as  the  term  goes,  but  this  tim.e  at 
least  he  had  to,  but  for  the  matter  of  that  there 
were  not  many  who  would  not  have  done  the  same 
thing.  As  nearly  as  I  can  remember,  he  got  the 
horn  of  his  saddle  in  one  hand  and  the  cantle  in 
the  other,  then  swung  his  weight  well  into  the  inside 
and  hung  like  a  leech.  Of  course,  it  took  sheer  grit 
to  do  it,  because  in  thus  holding  himself  tight  to 
the  saddle  with  his  hands,  he  "had  to  take  full 
punishment,  which  can  be  avoided  only  when  one 
has  acquired  the  knack  of  balancing  and  riding 
loosely. 

"As  it  was,  his  glasses  and  six-shooter  took  the 
count  within  the  first  few  jumps,  but  in  one  way  or 
another  he  hung  to  it  himself,  until  some  of  the  boys 


BEN  BUTLER  289 

rode  up  and  got  the  horse  headed  into  a  straight- 
away by  the  Hberal  use  of  their  quirts.  Once  they 
got  him  running,  it  was  all  over,  of  course.  If  I 
remember  right,  Mr.  Roosevelt  rode  the  horse  on 
a  long  circle  that  morning  and  brought  him  in  safe, 
hours  later,  as  good  as  gold."^ 

The  horse  which  Roosevelt  had  called  "  Ben 
Butler  "  was  not  so  easily  subdued.  It  was  "  Ben 
Butler's  "  special  antic  to  fall  over  backward.  He 
was  a  sullen,  evil-eyed  brute,  with  a  curve  in  his 
nose  and  a  droop  in  his  nostrils,  which  gave  him 
a  ridiculous  resemblance  to  the  presidential  candi- 
date of  the  Anti-Monopoly  Party.  He  was  a  great 
man-killing  bronco,  with  a  treacherous  streak,  and 
Roosevelt  had  put  him  in  his  "  string  "  against  the 
protests  of  his  own  men.  "  That  horse  is  a  plumb 
outlaw,"  Bill  Dantz  declared,  "  an'  outlaws  is  never 
safe.  They  kinda  git  bad  and  bust  out  at  any  time. 
He  will  sure  kill  you,  sooner  or  later,  if  you  try  to 
ride  him." 

One  raw,  chilly  morning,  Roosevelt,  who  had 
been  ordered  to  ride  "  the  outside  circle,"  chose 
"  Ben  Butler  "  for  his  mount,  because  he  knew  the 

^  "During  the  course  of  the  Barnes-Roose\elt  trial  at  Syracuse  in 
1916,  Roosevelt  was  taking  dinner  one  evening  at  the  house  of  Mr. 
Horace  S.  Wilkinson.  Chancellor  Day,  of  Syracuse  University,  who 
was  present,  said:  'Mr.  Roosevelt,  my  attention  was  first  directed  to 
you  by  an  account  of  a  scene  when  you  were  with  the  cowboys.  It 
told  of  your  trying  to  get  astride  a  bronco,  and  it  was  a  struggle. 
But  you  finally  conquered  him,  and  away  you  went  in  a  cloud  of  dust.' 

'"Very  true,  ver>'  true,'  said  Roosevelt,  'but  I  rode  him  all  the  way 
from  the  tip  of  his  ear  to  the  end  of  his  tail.' "  —  Rev.  D.  B.  Thomp 
son,  Syracuse,  N.Y. 


290       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

horse  was  tireless  and  could  stand  the  long,  swift 
ride  better  than  any  other  pony  he  had.  As  Roose- 
velt mounted  him,  the  horse  reared  and  fell  over 
backward.  He  had  done  that  before,  but  this 
time  he  fell  on  his  rider.  Roosevelt,  with  a  sharp 
pain  in  his  shoulder,  extricated  himself  and  mounted 
once  more.  But  the  horse  now  refused  to  go  in 
any  direction,  backward  or  forward. 

Sylvane  and  George  Myers  threw  their  lariats 
about  the  bronco's  neck,  and  dragged  him  a  few 
hundred  yards,  choking  but  stubborn,  all  four  feet 
firmly  planted  and  pawing  the  ground.  When  they 
released  the  ropes,  "  Ben  Butler  "  lay  down  and 
refused  to  get  up. 

The  round-up  had  started;  there  was  no  time 
to  waste.  Sylvane  gave  Roosevelt  his  horse,  Baldy, 
which  sometimes  bucked,  but  never  went  over 
backwards,  and  himself  mounted  the  now  re-arisen 
"  Ben  Butler."  To  Roosevelt's  discomfiture,  the 
horse  that  had  given  him  so  much  trouble  started 
off  as  meekly  as  any  farm-horse. 

"  Why,"  remarked  Sylvane,  not  without  a  touch 
of  triumph,  "  there's  nothing  the  matter  with  this 
horse. :  He's  a  plumb  gentle  horse." 

But  shortly  after,  Roosevelt  noticed  that  Sylvane 
had  fallen  behind.  Then  he  heard  his  voice,  in 
persuasive  tones,  "  That's  all  right!  Come  along!  " 
Suddenly  a  new  note  came  into  his  entreaties. 
"  Here  you!  Go  on  you!  Hi,  hi,  fellows,  help  me 
out!   He's  laying  on  me!  " 

They  dragged  Sylvane  from  under  the  sprawling 


DR.  STICKNEY  291 

steed,  whereupon  Sylvane  promptly  danced  a  war- 
dance,  spurs  and  all,  on  the  iniquitous  "  Ben." 
Roosevelt  gave  up  the  attempt  to  take  that  parti- 
cular bronco  on  the  round-up  that  day. 

"  By  gollies,"  remarked  "  Dutch  Wannigan  "  in 
later  days,  "  he  rode  some  bad  horses,  some  that 
did  quite  a  little  bucking  around  for  us.  I  don't 
know  if  he  got  throwed.  If  he  did,  there  wouldn't 
have  been  nothin'  said  about  it.  Some  of  those 
Eastern  punkin-lilies  now,  those  goody-goody  fel- 
lows, if  they'd  ever  get  throwed  off  you'd  never  hear 
the  last  of  it.  He  didn't  care  a  bit.  By  gollies,  if  he 
got  throwed  off,  he'd  get  right  on  again.  He  was 
a  dandy  fellow." 

The  encounter  with  "  Ben  Butler  "  brought  a 
new  element  into  Roosevelt's  cowpunching  experi- 
ence, and  made  what  remained  of  the  round-up 
somewhat  of  an  ordeal.  For  he  discovered  that  the 
point  of  his  shoulder  was  broken.  Under  other 
circumstances  he  would  have  gone  to  a  doctor, 
but  in  the  Bad  Lands  you  did  not  go  to  doctors, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  there  was  only  one  physi- 
cian in  the  whole  region  and  he  might  at  any  given 
moment  be  anywhere  from  fifty  to  two  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  away.  If  you  were  totally  incapaci- 
tated with  a  broken  leg  or  a  bullet  in  your  lungs, 
you  sent  word  to  Dr.  Stickney's  office  in  Dickinson. 
The  doctor  might  be  north  in  the  Killdeer  Moun- 
tains or  south  in  the  Cave  Hills  or  west  in  Mingus- 
ville,  for  the  territory  he  covered  stretched  from 
Mandan  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles  east  of  Medora, 


292       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

to  Glendive,  the  same  distance  westward,  south  to 
the  Black  Hills  and  north  beyond  the  Canadian 
border,  a  stretch  of  country  not  quite  as  large  as 
New  England,  but  almost.  The  doctor  covered  it 
on  horseback  or  in  a  buckboard;  in  the  cab  of  a 
wild-cat  engine  or  the  caboose  of  a  freight,  or,  on 
occasion,  on  a  hand-car.  He  was  as  young  as 
everybody  else  in  that  young  country-,  utterly 
fearless,  and,  it  seemed,  utterly  tireless.  He  rode 
out  into  the  night  careless  alike  of  blinding  sleet 
and  drifting  snow.  At  grilling  speed  he  rode  until 
his  horse  stood  with  heaving  sides  and  nose  droop- 
ing; then,  at  some  ranch,  he  changed  to  another 
and  rode  on.  Over  a  course  of  a  hundred  miles  or 
more  he  would  ride  relays  at  a  speed  that  seemed 
incredible,  and  at  the  end  of  the  journey  operate 
with  a  calm  hand  for  a  gun-shot  wound  or  a  cruelly 
broken  bone,  sometimes  on  the  box  of  a  mess- 
wagon  turned  upside  down  on  the  prairie. 

Dr.  Stickney  was  from  Verm.ont,  a  quiet,  lean 
man  with  a  warm  smile  and  friendly  eyes,  a  sense 
of  humor  and  a  zest  for  life.  He  had  a  reputation 
for  never  refusing  a  call  whatever  the  distance  or 
the  weather.  Sometimes  he  rode  with  a  guide; 
more  often  he  rode  alone.  He  knew  the  landmarks 
for  a  hundred  miles  in  any  direction.  At  night, 
when  the  trail  grew  faint,  he  held  his  course  by 
the  stars;  when  an  unexpected  blizzard  swept  down 
upon  him  and  the  snow  hid  the  trail,  he  sought 
a  brush-patch  in  a  coulee  and  tramped  back  and 
forth  to  keep  himself  from  freezing  until  the  storm 


DINNER  WITH  MRS.  CUMMINS        293 

had  spent  itself.  It  was  a  life  of  extraordinary  devo- 
tion. Stickney  took  it  with  a  laugh,  blushing  when 
men  spoke  well  of  him;  and  called  it  the  day's  work. 

God  alone  knew  where  the  doctor  happened  to 
be  on  the  day  that  "  Ben  Butler  "  rolled  over  back- 
ward with  Theodore  Roosevelt.  It  is  safe  to  surmise 
that  Roosevelt  did  not  inquire.  You  did  not  send 
for  Dr.  Stickney  for  a  break  in  the  point  of  your 
shoulder.  You  let  the  thing  heal  by  itself  and  went 
on  with  your  job.  Of  course,  it  was  not  pleasant; 
but  there  were  many  things  that  were  not  pleasant. 
It  was,  in  fact,  Roosevelt  found,  excruciating.  But 
he  said  nothing  about  that. 

By  the  beginning  of  June,  the  round-up  had 
worked  down  to  Tepee  Bottom,  two  or  three  miles 
south  of  the  Maltese  Cross,  making  its  midday 
camp,  one  hot  and  sultry  day,  in  a  grove  of  ancient 
cottonwoods  that  stood  like  unlovely,  weather- 
beaten,  gnarled  old  men,  within  hailing  distance  of 
"  Deacon  "  Cummins's  ranch-house.  A  messenger 
from  Mrs.  Cummins  arrived  at  the  camp  at  noon 
inviting  Roosevelt  and  three  or  four  of  his  friends  to 
dinner.  A  "  home  dinner  "  was  not  to  be  spurned, 
and  they  all  rode  over  to  the  comfortable  log  cabin. 
The  day  was  blistering,  a  storm  hung  in  the  humid 
air,  and  none  of  them  remembered,  not  even  Roose- 
velt, that  "  gentlemen  "  did  not  go  to  dinner  parties 
in  their  shirt-sleeves,  at  least  not  in  the  world  to 
which  Mrs.  Cummins  liked  to  believe  she  belonged. 
Roosevelt  was  in  his  shirt  and  trousers,  cowboy 
fashion. 


294       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

'  As  the  men  prepared  to  sit  down  to  dinner,  Mrs. 
Cummins  was  obviously  perturbed.  She  left  the 
room,  returning  a  minute  later  with  a  coat  over 
her  arm. 

"  Mr.  Roosevelt,"  she  said,  "  I  know  you  won't 
like  to  come  to  dinner  without  a  coat.  I  have  got 
one  of  Mr.  Cummins's  that  will  fit  you.  I  am  sure 
you  will  feel  m.ore  comfortable." 

What  Roosevelt's  emotions  were  at  being  thus 
singled  out  and  proclaimed  a  "  dude  "  among  the 
men  he  wanted,  above  all  things,  to  consider  him 
their  peer,  Roosevelt  concealed  at  the  moment  and 
later  only  fitfully  revealed.  He  accepted  the  coat 
with  as  good  grace  as  he  could  muster,  to  the  sup- 
pressed delight  of  his  friends. 

But  Mrs.  Cum.mins  was  not  yet  done  with  her 
guest  of  honor.  She  had  evidently  been  hurt,  poor 
lady,  by  his  failure  to  observe  the  amenities  of 
social  intercourse,  for  during  the  dinner  she  said 
to  him,  "  I  don't  see  why  men  and  women  of  culture 
come  out  here  and  let  the  people  pull  them  do\\Ti. 
What  they  should  do  is  to  raise  the  people  out  here 
to  their  level." 

What  Roosevelt  answered  is  lost  to  history;  but 
Lincoln  Lang,  who  was  with  him  when  he  rode  back 
to  camp  that  afternoon,  reported  that  Roosevelt's 
comments  on  the  dinner  party  were  "  blistering." 
"  He  told  my  mother  afterwards,"  said  Lang  in 
later  times,  "  that  Mrs.  Cummins  was  out  of  place 
in  the  Bad  Lands";  which  was  Mrs.  Cummins's 
tragedy  in  a  nutshell. 


THE  STAMPEDE  295 

They  moved  the  camp  that  same  afternoon  a 
mile  or  two  north  to  a  wide  bottom  that  lay  at  the 
base  of  the  peak  known  as  Chimney  Butte,  north 
of  Garner  Creek  and  west  of  the  Little  Missouri. 
As  evening  approached,  heavy  black  clouds  began 
to  roll  up  in  the  west,  bringing  rain.  The  rain 
became  a  downpour,  through  which  flashes  of  light- 
ning and  rumblings  of  thunder  came  with  increasing 
\'iolence.  The  cattle  were  ver}-  restless  and  uneasy, 
running  up  and  down  and  trying  here  and  there  to 
break  out  of  the  herd.  The  guards  were  doubled  in 
anticipation  of  trouble. 

At  midnight,  fearing  a  stampede,  the  night- 
herders,  of  whom  Lincoln  Lang  happened  to  be 
one,  sent  a  call  of  "  all  hands  out."  Roosevelt 
leaped  on  the  pony  he  always  kept  picketed  near 
him.  Suddenly  there  was  a  terrific  peal  of  thunder. 
The  lightning  struck  almost  into  the  herd  itself, 
and  with  heads  and  tails  high  the  panic-stricken 
animals  plunged  off  into  the  darkness. 

Will  Dow  was  at  Roosevelt's  side.  The  tumult 
evidently  had  not  affected  his  imperturbable  gayety. 
"There'll  be  racing  and  chasing  on  Cannobie  lea," 
Roosevelt  heard  him  gayly  quote.  An  instant  later 
the  night  had  swallowed  him. 

For  a  minute  or  two  Roosevelt  could  make  out 
nothing  except  the  dark  form.s  of  the  beasts,  running 
on  every  side  of  him  like  the  black  waters  of  a 
roaring  river.  He  w^as  conscious  that  if  his  horse 
should  stumble  there  would  be  no  hope  for  him  in 
the  path  of  those  panicky  hoofs.    The  herd  split,  a 


296       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

part  turning  to  one  side,  while  the  other  part  kept 
straight  ahead.  Roosevelt  galloped  at  top  speed, 
hoping  to  reach  the  leaders  and  turn  them. 

He  heard  a  wild  splashing  ahead.  One  instant  he 
was  aware  that  the  cattle  in  front  of  him  and  beside 
him  were  disappearing;  the  next,  he  himself  was 
plunging  over  a  cutbank  into  the  Little  Missouri. 
He  bent  far  back  in  the  saddle.  His  horse  almost 
fell,  recovered  himself,  plunged  forward,  and,  strug- 
gling through  water  and  quicksand,  made  the  other 
side. 

For  a  second  he  saw  another  cowboy  beside  him. 
The  man  disappeared  in  the  darkness  and  the  deluge, 
and  Roosevelt  galloped  off  through  a  grove  of 
cotton  woods  after  the  diminished  herd.  The  ground 
was  rough  and  full  of  pitfalls.  Once  his  horse 
turned  a  somersault  and  threw  him.  At  last  the 
cattle  came  to  a  halt,  but  soon  they  were  again 
away  through  the  darkness.  Thrice  again  he  halted 
them,  and  thrice  again  they  stampeded. 

"  The  country  was  muddy  and  wet,"  said  Lincoln 
Lang  afterward.  "  We  were  having  a  heavy  rain 
all  night.  I  don't  know  how  we  ever  got  through. 
All  we  had  was  lightning  flashes  to  go  by.  It  was 
really  one  of  the  worst  mix-ups  I  ever  saw.  That 
surely  was  a  night." 

Day  broke  at  last,  and  as  the  light  filtered  through 
the  clouds  Roosevelt  could  dimly  discern  where  he 
was.  He  succeeded  at  last  in  turning  back  what 
remained  of  the  cattle  in  the  direction  of  the  camp, 
gathering  in  stray  groups  of  cattle  as  he  went,  and 


ROPING  AN  EARL'S  SON  297 

driving  them  before  him.  He  came  upon  a  cowboy 
on  foot  carrying  his  saddle  on  his  head.  It  was  the 
man  he  had  seen  for  a  flash  during  the  storm.  His 
horse  had  run  into  a  tree  and  been  killed.  He  him- 
self had  escaped  by  a  miracle. 

The  men  in  the  camp  were  just  starting  on  the 
"long circle"  when  Roosevelt  returned.  One  of  them 
saddled  a  fresh  horse  for  him  while  he  snatched  a 
hasty  breakfast;  then  he  was  off  for  the  day's  work. 

As  only  about  half  of  the  night-herd  had  been 
brought  back,  the  circle-riding  was  particularly 
heavy,  and  it  was  ten  hours  before  Roosevelt  was 
back  at  the  wagon  camp  once  more  for  a  hasty 
meal  and  a  fresh  horse.  He  finished  work  as  the 
late  twilight  fell.  He  had  been  in  the  saddle  forty 
hours,  changing  horses  five  times.  That  night  he 
slept  like  the  dead. 

The  storm  had  raised  the  level  of  the  river  and 
filled  every  wash-out  with  swirling  brown  waters. 
The  following  day  Roosevelt  had  an  adventure 
which  came  within  an  ace  of  being  tragedy  and 
culminated  in  hilarious  farce.  He  was  riding  with 
a  young  Englishman,  the  son  of  Lord  Somebody  or 
Other  —  the  name  is  immaterial  —  who  was  living 
that  spring  with  the  Langs.  Just  north  of  the  Custer 
Trail  Ranch  a  bridge  of  loose  stringers  had  been 
laid  across  the  washout,  which,  except  at  times  of 
heav"^'  rains  or  melting  snows,  was  completely  dry. 
On  this  occasion,  however,  it  was  full  to  the  banks, 
and  had  even  flowed  over  the  rude  bridge,  jumbling 
the  light  logs. 


298       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

The  stringers  parted  as  their  horses  attempted 
to  make  their  way  gingerly  across,  and  in  an  instant 
horses  and  riders  and  bridge  timbers  were  flounder- 
ing indiscriminately  in  the  rushing  torrent.  Roose- 
velt's horse  worked  his  way  out,  but  the  Englishman, 
who  was  a  good  rider  according  to  his  lights,  was 
not  altogether  used  to  mishaps  of  this  sort  and 
became  excited. 

"I'm  drowning!  I'm  drowning!  "  he  called  to 
Roosevelt. 

Roosevelt  snatched  the  lasso  from  his  saddle. 
He  was  not  famous  as  a  roper,  but  on  this  occasion 
his  "  throw  "  went  true.  The  rope  descended  over 
the  shoulders  of  the  British  aristocrat,  and  an  instant 
later  Roosevelt  had  him  on  solid  ground. 

"  As  he  was  yanked  unceremoniously  out  of  that 
creek,"  Roosevelt  subsequently  remarked,  "  he  did 
not  seem  to  be  very  thankful." 

Sober  second  thoughts,  however,  brought  grati- 
tude with  them.  The  Britisher  never  forgot  that 
Roosevelt  had  saved  his  life,  and  Roosevelt  never 
forgot  the  picture  that  a  son  of  a  lord  made,  dragged 
through  the  water  at  the  end  of  a  lasso. 

On  June  5th,  which  must  have  been  the  day 
after  the  rescue  of  the  Englishman,  Roosevelt 
was  writing  to  Lodge. 

A  cowboy  from  "  down  river  "  has  just  come  up  to 
the  round-up,  and  brought  me  my  mail,  with  your  letter 
in  it.  I  am  writing  on  the  ground;  so  my  naturally 
good  handwriting  will  not  show  to  its  usual  advantage. 

I  have  been  three  weeks  on  the  round-up  and  have 


A  LETTER  TO  LODGE  299 

worked  as  hard  as  any  of  the  cowboys;  but  I  have 
enjoyed  it  greatly.  Yesterday  I  was  eighteen  hours  in 
the  saddle  —  from  4  a.m.  to  10  p.m. —  having  a  half- 
hour  each  for  dinner  and  tea.  I  can  now  do  cowboy 
work  pretty  well. 

Toronto  ^  must  be  a  dandy;  I  wish  I  could  pick  up 
one  as  good.  That  is,  if  he  is  gentle.  You  are  all  off 
about  my  horsemanship;  as  you  would  say  if  you  saw 
me  now.  Almost  all  of  our  horses  on  the  ranch  being 
young,  I  had  to  include  in  my  string  three  that  were 
but  partially  broken ;  and  I  have  had  some  fine  circuses 
with  them.  One  of  them  had  never  been  saddled  but 
once  before,  and  he  proved  vicious,  and  besides  bucking, 
kept  falling  over  backwards  with  me ;  finally  he  caught 
me,  gi\'ing  me  an  awful  slat,  from  which  my  left  arm 
has  by  no  means  recovered.  Another  bucked  me  off 
going  down  hill;  but  I  think  I  have  cured  him,  for  I 
put  him  through  a  desperate  course  of  sprouts  when  I 
got  on  again.  The  third  I  nearly  lost  in  swimming  him 
across  a  swollen  creek,  where  the  flood  had  carried  down 
a  good  deal  of  drift  timber.  However,  I  got  him  through 
all  right  in  the  end,  after  a  regular  ducking.  Twice 
one  of  my  old  horses  turned  a  somersault  while  galloping 
after  cattle;  once  in  a  prairie-dog  town,  and  once  while 
trying  to  prevent  the  herd  from  stampeding  in  a  storm 
at  night.  I  tell  you,  I  like  gentle  and  well-broken  horses 
if  I  am  out  for  pleasure,  and  I  do  not  get  on  any  other, 
unless,  as  in  this  case,  from  sheer  necessity. 

It  is  too  bad  that  letters  cannot  be  published  with 
stage  directions.  For  surely  the  words,  **  I  like 
gentle  and  well-broken  horses,"  should  bear  about 
them  somewhere  the  suggestion  of  the  glint  of  the 
eye,  the  flash  of  the  teeth,  the  unctuous  deliberate- 

*  Toronto  was  the  name  of  Lodge's  hunter. 


300       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

ness,  and  the  comical  break  In  the  voice  with  which, 
surely,  Roosevelt  whispered  them  to  his  soul  before 
he  wrote  them  down. 

While  Roosevelt  was  enjoying  adventures  and 
misadventures  of  various  sorts,  Sylvane  Ferris  was 
having  what  he  might  have  described  as  "  a  little 
party  "  of  his  own.  For  Sylvane,  most  honest  and 
guileless  of  men,  had  got  into  the  clutches  of  the 
law.   It  happened  this  way. 

Early  in  the  spring  some  cowpunchers,  driving 
in  cattle  which  had  strayed  during  the  winter 
over  the  level  country  far  to  the  east  of  the  Little 
Missouri,  came  upon  a  cow  marked  with  the  maltese 
cross.  They  drove  her  westward  with  the  rest  of 
the  "  strays,"  but  none  of  the  men  belonged  to 
the  "  Roosevelt  outfit  "  and  their  interest  in  this 
particular  cow  was  therefore  purely  altruistic.  She 
was  not  a  particularly  good  cow,  moreover,  for  she 
had  had  a  calf  in  the  winter  and  her  udder  had 
partially  frozen.  When,  therefore,  the  necessity 
arose  of  paying  board  at  the  section-house  at 
Gladstone  after  a  few  happy  days  at  that  metropolis, 
the  cowboys,  who  did  not  have  a  cent  of  real  money 
among  them,  hit  upon  the  brilliant  idea  of  offering 
the  cow  in  payment. 

The  section  boss  accepted  the  settlement,  but 
evidently  not  without  a  sense  of  the  consequences 
that  might  follow  the  discovery  In  his  possession 
of  a  cow  for  which  he  could  not  present  a  bill  of 
sale.  He  therefore  promptly  passed  the  cow  on  to 
a  Russian  cobbler  in  payment  for  a  pair  of  shoes. 


SYLVANE'S  ADVENTURE      301 

The  cobbler,  with  the  European  peasant's  uncanny 
ability  to  make  something  out  of  nothing,  doctored 
the  cow  with  a  care  which  he  would  not  have 
dreamed  of  bestowing  on  his  wife,  and  made  a 
profitable  milk-provider  out  of  her. 

Sylvane  discovered  her  during  the  round-up, 
picketed  outside  the  Russian's  shack,  and  promptly 
proceeded  to  take  possession  of  her.  The  Russian 
protested  and  told  his  story.  Sylvane,  pointing  out 
that  he  was  moved  by  charity  and  not  by  necessity, 
offered  the  man  six  dollars,  which  had  been  the 
price  of  the  shoes.  The  Russian  threw  up  his  hands 
and  demanded  no  less  than  forty.  Sylvane  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  annexed  the  cow. 

That  evening  as  Sylvane  was  sitting  around  the 
mess-wagon  with  a  dozen  other  cowpunchers,  a 
stranger  came  walking  from  the  direction  of  Glad- 
stone. The  cow  was  hitched  to  the  wagon,  for  she 
had  shown  a  tendency  to  choose  her  own  master. 
The  stranger  started  to  detach  the  rope  that  held 
her. 

"  Hold  on!  "  cried  Sylvane,  "  that  is  our  cow." 

The  stranger  took  some  papers  out  of  his  pocket 
and  handed  them  to  Sylvane. 

"  Here  are  replevin  papers,"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  want  your  papers,"  remarked  Sylvane, 
who  did  not  know  a  replevin  paper  from  a  dog 
license. 

The  stranger  threw  the  papers  at  Sylvane's  feet. 

"  I've  come  to  take  this  cow." 

"Well,"   remarked  Sylvane,   "if  that's  all  the 


302       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

business  you  have,  you  can  go  straight  back  where 
you  came  from." 

The  stranger  strode  toward  the  cow,  Sylvane 
did  likewise.  They  reached  the  rope  at  the  same 
moment.  There  was  a  shout  from  the  dehghted 
audience  of  cowpunchers. 

The  stranger  released  his  hold  on  the  rope.  "  If 
you  say  I  can't  take  her,  I  can't  take  her,"  the  man 
grumbled.  "  There's  too  many  of  you.  But  I'll 
bring  back  men  that  can." 

"  Well,  turn  yourself  loose,"  remarked  Sylvane 
agreeably.    "  You'll  need  a  lot  of  them." 

There  was  another  shout  from  the  onlookers,  and 
the  stranger  departed.  Sylvane  threw  the  papers 
into  the  mess-wagon. 

Roosevelt  did  not  happen  to  be  present,  and  in 
his  absence  the  sober  counsel  of  "  Deacon  "  Cum- 
mins made  itself  heard.  The  gist  of  it  was  that 
Sylvane  had  resisted  an  officer  of  the  law,  which 
was  a  criminal  offense. 

Sylvane,  who  was  afraid  of  nothing  that  walked 
on  two  legs  or  on  four,  had  a  wholesome  respect  for 
that  vague  and  ominous  thing  known  as  the  Law. 

"  Say,  I  don't  want  to  get  in  bad  with  any  sheriff," 
he  said,  really  worried.    "  What  had  I  oughter  do?  " 

The  "  Deacon,"  who  possibly  rejoiced  at  being 
for  once  taken  seriously',  suggested  that  Sylvane 
ride  to  Gladstone  and  see  if  he  could  not  straighten 
the  matter  out.  The  other  cowpunchers,  whose 
acquaintance  w'ith  legal  procedure  was  as  vague  as 
Sylvane's,  agreed  that  that  plan  sounded  reason- 


LAW  303 

able.  Sylvane  went,  accompanied  by  the  "  Dea- 
con "  and  another  cowboy.  If  there  was  a  gleam  of 
wicked  triumph  in  the  stranger's  eye  when  Sylvane 
rode  up  to  him,  Sylvane  failed  to  notice  it.  Before 
a  justice  of  the  peace  he  agreed  to  appear  in  court 
on  a  certain  date,  and  his  two  companions  furnished 
a  bond. 

Next  day,  while  they  were  in  camp  on  the  Heart 
River,  an  acquaintance  of  Sylvane's,  a  lawyer  who 
rejoiced  in  the  harmonious  name  of  Western  Starr, 
rode  in  from  Dickinson  to  have  dinner  with  "  the 
boys."  Sylvane  showed  him  the  papers  the  stranger 
had  deposited  at  his  feet. 

The  lawyer  glanced  over  them.  "  What  are 
these?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Sylvane  lightly. 
"  That's  what  I  handed  them  to  you  for,  to  find  out." 

"  Wh}',"  exclaimed  Starr,  "  these  aren't  any- 
thing.  They  haven't  been  signed  by  anybody." 

Sylvane's  jaw  dropped.  "  Say,  how  about  my 
bond?  " 

"Oh,  that's  valid,  even  if  these  are  not.  You've 
got  to  appear  in  court." 

Sylvane's  feelings  concerning  the  "  Deacon  "  and 
his  precious  advice  were  deep  and  earnest.  The  sit- 
uation was  serious.  He  knew  well  enough  the  chance 
that  the  "outfit"  of  a  wealthy  Easterner  like  Roose- 
velt would  stand  with  a  Gladstone  jury,  when  it 
was  a  question  of  depriving  a  poor  man  of  his  cow. 

Western  Starr  suggested  that  he  arrange  for  a 
change  of  venue. 


304       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Sylvane  approved.  The  change  of  venue  cost 
ten  dollars,  but  was  granted.  The  date  of  the  trial 
was  set.  Sylvane  traveled  to  Dickinson  and  waited 
all  day  with  his  attorney  for  the  trial  to  be  called. 
No  one  appeared,  not  even  the  judge. 

Starr's  fee  was  twenty  dollars.  Sylvane's  railroad 
fare  was  five  more.   The  total  bill  was  thirty-five. 

Roosevelt  paid  the  bill.  If  he  remarked  that, 
taking  lost  time  into  consideration,  it  would  have 
been  cheaper,  in  the  first  place,  to  pay  the  Russian 
the  forty  dollars  he  demanded,  there  is  no  record 
of  it.  But  the  remark  would  not  have  been  charac- 
teristic. The  chances  are  that  he  thought  Sylvane's 
encounter  with  the  law  worth  every  cent  that  it 
cost. 


XVIII 

Somewhere  on  some  faded  page 
I  read  about  a  Golden  Age, 
But  gods  and  Caledonian  hunts 
Were  nothing  to  what  I  knew  once. 
Here  on  these  hills  was  hunting!    Here 
Antelope  sprang  and  wary  deer. 
Here  there  were  heroes!   On  these  plains 
Were  drops  afire  from  dragons'  veins! 
Here  there  was  challenge,  here  defying, 
Here  was  true  living,  here  great  dying! 
Stormy  winds  and  stormy  souls. 
Earthly  wills  with  starry  goals, 
Battle  —  thunder  —  hoofs  in  flight  — 
Centaurs  charging  down  the  night ! 

Here  there  were  feasts  of  song  and  story 

And  words  of  love  and  dreams  of  glory! 

Here  there  were  friends!   Ah,  night  will  fall 

And  clouds  or  the  stars  will  cover  all. 

But  I,  when  I  go  as  a  ghost  again 

To  the  gaunt,  grim  buttes,  to  the  friendly  plain 

I  know  that  for  all  that  time  can  do 

To  scatter  the  faithful,  estrange  the  true  — 

Quietly,  in  the  lavender  sage. 

Will  be  waiting  the  friends  of  my  golden  age. 

From  Medora  Nights 

The  wild  riding,  the  mishaps,  the  feverish  activity, 
the  smell  of  the  cattle,  the  dust,  the  tumult,  the 
physical  weariness,  the  comradeship,  the  closeness 
to  life  and  death  —  to  Roosevelt  it  was  all  magical 
and  enticing.  He  loved  the  crisp  morning  air,  the 
fantastic  landscape,  the  limitless  spaces,  half  blue 
and  half  gold.  His  spirit  was  sensitive  to  beauty, 
especially  the  beauty  that  lay  open  for  all  in  the 
warm  light  of  dawn  and  dusk  under  the  wide  vault 
of  heaven;    and  the  experiences  that  were  merely 


3o6       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

the  day's  work  to  his  companions  to  him  were  edged 
with  the  shimmer  of  spiritual  adventure. 

"  We  knew  toil  and  hardship  and  hunger  and 
thirst,"  Roosevelt  wrote  thirty  years  later,  "  and 
we  saw  men  die  violent  deaths  as  they  worked  among 
the  horses  and  cattle,  or  fought  in  evil  feuds  with 
one  another;  but  we  felt  the  beat  of  hardy  life  in 
our  veins,  and  ours  was  the  glory  of  work  and  the 
joy  of  living." 

"  It  was  a  wonderful  thing  for  Roosevelt,"  said 
Dr.  Stickney.  "  He  himself  realized  what  a  splendid 
thing  it  was  for  him  to  have  been  here  at  that  time 
and  to  have  had  sufficient  strength  in  his  character 
to  absorb  it.  He  started  out  to  get  the  fundamental 
truths  as  they  were  in  this  country  and  he  never 
lost  sight  of  that  purpose  all  the  time  he  was  here." 

To  the  joy  of  strenuous  living  was  added,  for 
Roosevelt,  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  the  spec- 
ulation in  which  he  had  risked  so  large  a  part  of  his 
fortune  was  apparently  prospering.  The  cattle  were 
looking  well.  Even  pessimistic  Bill  Sewall  admitted 
that,  though  he  would  not  admit  that  he  had  changed 
his  opinion  of  the  region  as  a  place  for  raising  cattle. 

I  don't  think  we  shall  lose  many  of  our  cattle  this 
winter  [he  wrote  his  brother].  I  think  they  have  got 
past  the  worst  now.  Next  year  is  the  one  that  will 
try  them.  It  is  the  cows  that  perish  mostly  and  we  had 
but  few  that  had  calves  last  spring,  but  this  spring 
thare  will  be  quite  a  lot  of  them.  The  calves  suck  them 
down  and  they  don't  get  any  chance  to  gain  up  before 
they  have  another  calf  and  then  if  the  weather  is  very 
cold  they  are  pretty  sure  to  die.    It  is  too  cold  here  to 


SEWALL'S  SKEPTICISM  307 

raise  cattle  that  way.  Don't  believe  there  is  any  money 
in  she  cattle  here  and  am  afraid  thare  is  not  much  in 
any,  unless  it  is  the  largest  heards,  and  they  are  crowding 
in  cattle  all  the  time  and  I  think  they  will  eat  us  out  in  a 
few  years. 

Sewall,  being  a  strong  individualist,  was  more  than 
dubious  concerning  the  practicality  of  the  coopera- 
tive round-up.  The  cowmen  were  passionately  de- 
voted to  the  idea  of  the  open  range;  to  believe  in 
fences  was  treason;  but  it  was  in  fences  that  Bill 
Sewall  believed. 

I  don't  like  so  free  a  country  [he  wrote].  Whare  one 
man  has  as  good  a  right  as  another  nobody  really  has 
any  right,  so  when  feed  gets  scarce  in  one  place  they 
drive  their  cattle  whare  it  is  good  without  regard  to 
whose  range  they  eat  out.  I  am  satisfied  that  by  the  time 
we  are  ready  to  leave  grass  will  be  pretty  scarce  here. 

I  think  the  Cattle  business  has  seen  its  best  days  and 
I  gave  my  opinion  to  Mr.  R.  last  fall.  I  hope  he  may  not 
lose  but  I  think  he  stands  a  chance.  Shall  do  all  we  can 
to  prevent  it,  but  it  is  such  a  mixed  business.  One  or 
two  can't  do  much.  It  is  the  most  like  driving  on  the 
Lake  when  you  are  mixed  with  everybody.  I  don't  like 
it  and  never  did.  I  want  to  controle  and  manage  my 
own  affairs  and  have  a  right  to  what  I  have,  but  here  as 
on  the  Lake  it  is  all  common.  One  has  as  much  right  as 
another. 

Roosevelt  remained  with  the  round-up  until  it 
disbanded  not  far  from  Elkhorn  Bottom.  Then,  on 
June  2 1  St,  he  went  East,  accompanied  by  Wilmot 
Dow,  who  was  going  home  to  get  married  and  bring 
Sewall's  wife  back  with  him  when  he  brought  back 
his  own. 


308      ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Two  reporters  intercepted  Roosevelt  as  he  passed 
through  St.  Paul  the  day  after  his  departure  from 
Medora,  and  have  left  an  attractive  picture  of  the 
politician- turned-cowboy. 

Rugged,  bronzed,  and  in  the  prime  of  health  [wrote 
the  representative  of  the  Pioneer  Press],  Theodore 
Roosevelt  passed  through  St.  Paul  yesterday,  returning 
from  his  Dakota  ranch  to  New  York  and  civilization. 
There  was  very  little  of  the  whilom  dude  in  his  rough 
and  easy  costume,  with  a  large  handkerchief  tied  loosely 
about  his  neck;  but  the  eyeglasses  and  the  flashing  eyes 
behind  them,  the  pleasant  smile  and  the  hearty  grasp 
of  hand  remained.  There  was  the  same  eagerness  to 
hear  from  the  world  of  politics,  and  the  same  frank 
willingness  to  answer  all  questions  propounded.  The 
slow,  exasperating  drawl  and  the  unique  accent  that 
the  New  Yorker  feels  he  must  use  when  visiting  a  less 
blessed  portion  of  civilization  have  disappeared,  and  in 
their  place  is  a  nervous,  energetic  manner  of  talking 
with  the  flat  accent  of  the  West.  Roosevelt  is  changed 
from  the  New  York  club  man  to  the  thorough  West- 
erner, but  the  change  is  only  in  surface  indications, 
and  he  is  the  same  thoroughly  good  fellow  he  has  always 
been. 

The  reporter  of  the  Dispatch  caught  him  in  the 
lobby  of  the  Merchant's  Hotel. 

"  Pm  just  in  from  my  ranch,"  he  said  [runs  the  inter- 
view]. "Haven't  had  my  dinner  yet,  but  I  think  a 
short  talk  with  a  newspaper  fellow  will  give  me  a  whetted 
appetite.  Yes,  I  am  a  regular  cowboy,  dress  and  all  — " 
and  his  garb  went  far  to  prove  his  assertion,  woolen 
shirt,  big  neck  handkerchief  tied  loosely  around  his 
neck,  etc.  "  I  am  as  much  of  a  cowboy  as  any  of  them 
and  can  hold  my  own  with  the  best  of  them.    I  can 


INTERVIEW  AT  ST.  PAUL  309 

shoot,  ride,  and  drive  in  the  round-up  with  the  best  of 
them.  Oh,  they  are  a  jolly  set  of  fellows,  those  cowboys; 
tiptop  good  fellows,  too,  when  you  know  them,  but 
they  don't  want  any  plug  hat  or  pointed  shoes  foolish- 
ness around  them.  I  get  along  the  best  way  with  them. 
"  We  have  just  finished  the  spring  round-up.  You 
know  what  that  means.  The  round-up  covered  about 
two  hundred  miles  of  grass  territory  along  the  river, 
and  thousands  of  cattle  were  brought  in.  It  is  rare 
sport,  but  hard  work  after  all.  Do  I  like  ranch  life? 
Honestly  I  would  not  go  back  to  New  York  if  I  had  no 
interests  there.  Yes,  I  enjoy  ranch  life  far  more  than 
city  life.  I  like  the  hunt,  the  drive  of  cattle,  and  every- 
thing that  is  comprehended  in  frontier  life.  Make  no 
mistake ;  on  the  frontier  you  find  the  noblest  of  fellows. 
How  many  cattle  have  I?  Let's  see,  well,  not  less  than 
3500  at  present.   I  will  have  more  another  year." 

The  man  from  the  Dispatch  wanted  to  talk  politics, 
but  beyond  a  few  general  remarks  Roosevelt  refused 
to  satisfy  him. 

"  Don't  ask  me  to  talk  politics,"  he  said.  "  I  am 
out  of  politics.  I  know  that  this  is  often  said  by 
men  in  public  life,  but  in  this  case  it  is  true.  I 
really  am.  There  is  more  excitement  in  the  round-up 
than  in  politics.  And,"  he  remarked  with  zest, 
"it  is  far  more  respectable.  I  prefer  my  ranch 
and  the  excitement  it  brings,  to  New  York  life," 
he  repeated;  then,  lest  he  should  seem  to  suggest 
the  faintest  hint  of  discontent,  he  hastened  to  add, 
"  though  I  always  make  it  a  point  to  enjoy  myself 
w^herever  I  am." 

Roosevelt  spent  two  months  in  the  East.  On 
August  23d  he  was  again  in  St.  Paul  on  his  way, 


3IO       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

as  he  told  a  reporter  of  the  Dispatch,  to  Helena, 
Montana,  and  thence  back  to  Medora.  Once  more 
the  interviewer  sought  his  views  on  political  ques- 
tions. Roosevelt  made  a  few  non-committal  state- 
ments, refusing  to  prophesy.  "  My  political  life," 
he  remarked,  "  has  not  altogether  killed  my  desire 
to  tell  the  truth."  And  with  that  happily  flippant 
declaration  he  was  off  into  the  wilderness  again. 

The  **  womenfolks  "  from  Maine  were  at  Elkhorn 
when  Roosevelt  arrived.  They  were  backwoods- 
women,  self-reliant,  fearless,  high-hearted;  true 
mates  to  their  stalwart  men.  Mrs.  Sewall  had 
brought  her  three-year-old  daughter  with  her. 
Before  Roosevelt  knew  what  was  happening,  they 
had  turned  the  new  house  into  a  new  home. 

And  now  for  them  all  began  a  season  of  deep  and 
quiet  contentment  that  was  to  remain  in  the  mem- 
ories of  all  of  them  as  a  kind  of  idyl.  It  was  a  life 
of  elemental  toil,  hardship,  and  danger,  and  of 
strong,  elemental  pleasures  —  rest  after  labor,  food 
after  hunger,  warmth  and  shelter  after  bitter  cold. 
In  that  life  there  was  no  room  for  distinctions  of 
social  position  or  wealth.  They  respected  one  an- 
other and  cared  for  one  another  because  and  only 
because  each  knew  that  the  others  were  brave  and 
loyal  and  steadfast. 

Life  on  the  ranch  proved  a  more  joyous  thing 
than  ever  after  the  women  had  taken  charge.  They 
demanded  certain  necessities  at  once.  They  de- 
manded chickens,  which  Roosevelt  supplied,  to  the 
delight  of  the  bobcats,  who  promptly  started  tq 


ELKHORN  RANCH-HOUSE 
Photograph  by  Theodore  Roosevelt 


SITE  OF    ELKHORN.   1919 


THE  WOMEN-FOLKS  311 

feast  on  them;  they  demanded  at  least  one  cow.  No 
one  had  thought  of  a  cow.  No  one  in  the  length 
and  breadth  of  that  cattle  country,  except  Mrs. 
Roberts,  seemed  to  think  it  worth  while  to  keep  a 
cow  for  the  milk  that  was  in  her,  and  all  the  cows 
were  wild  as  antelope.  Roosevelt  and  Sewall  and 
Dow  among  them  roped  one  on  the  range  and 
threw  her,  and  sat  on  her,  and  milked  her  upside 
down,  which  was  not  altogether  satisfactory,  but 
was,  for  the  time  being,  the  best  thing  they 
could  do. 

Meals  became  an  altogether  different  matter  from 
what  they  had  been  at  the  Maltese  Cross  where 
men  were  kings  of  the  kitchen.  "  Eating  was  a 
sort  of  happy-go-lucky  business  at  the  Maltese 
Cross,"  remarked  Bill  Sewall  subsequently.  "  You 
were  happy  if  you  got  something,  an'  you  were 
lucky  too."  There  was  now  a  new  charm  in  shoot- 
ing game,  with  women  at  home  to  cook  it.  And 
Mrs.  Sewall  baked  bread  that  was  not  at  all  like 
the  bread  Bill  baked.  Soon  she  was  even  baking 
cake,  which  was  an  unheard-of  luxury  in  the  Bad 
Lands.  Then,  after  a  while,  the  buffalo  berries 
and  wild  plums  began  to  disappear  from  the  bushes 
roundabout  and  appear  on  the  table  as  jam. 

"  However  big  you  build  the  house,  it  won't  be 
big  enough  for  two  women,"  pessimists  had  re- 
marked. But  their  forebodings  were  not  realized. 
At  Elkhorn  no  cross  word  was  heard.  They  were, 
taken  altogether,  a  very  happy  family.  Roosevelt 
\yas  "the  boss"  in  the  sense  that,  since  he  footed 


312       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

the  bills,  power  of  final  decision  was  his;  but  only 
in  that  sense.  He  saddled  his  own  horse;  now  and 
then  he  washed  his  own  clothes;  he  fed  the  pigs; 
and  once,  on  a  rainy  day,  he  blacked  the  Sunday 
boots  of  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  place. 
He  was  not  encouraged  to  repeat  that  performance. 
The  folks  from  Maine  made  it  quite  clear  that  if 
the  boots  needed  blacking  at  all,  which  was  doubt- 
ful, they  thought  some  one  else  ought  to  do  the 
blacking  —  not  at  all  because  it  seemed  to  them 
improper  that  Roosevelt  should  black  anybody's 
boots,  but  because  he  did  it  so  badly.  The  paste 
came  off  on  everything  it  touched.  The  women 
"  mothered  "  him,  setting  his  belongings  to  rights 
at  stated  intervals,  for  he  was  not  conspicuous  for 
orderliness.  He,  in  turn,  treated  the  women  with 
the  friendliness  and  respect  he  showed  to  the 
women  of  his  own  family.  And  the  little  Sewall 
girl  was  never  short  of  toys. 

Elkhorn  Ranch  was  a  joyous  place  those  days. 
Cowboys,  hearing  of  it,  came  from  a  distance  for 
a  touch  of  home  life  and  the  luxury  of  hearing  a 
woman's  voice. 

Roosevelt's  days  were  full  of  diverse  activities, 
and  the  men  who  worked  with  him  at  Elkhorn  were 
the  pleasantest  sort  of  companions.  Bill  Sewall, 
who,  as  Sylvane  described  him,  was  "  like  a  track- 
hound  on  the  deer-trail,"  had  long  ago  given  up 
the  idea  of  making  a  cowboy  of  himself,  constituting 
himself  general  superintendent  of  the  house  and  its 
environs  and  guardian  of  the  womenfolks.   Not  that 


THE  ELKHORN  OUTFIT  313 

the  women  needed  protection.  There  was  doubtless 
no  safer  place  for  women  in  the  United  States  at 
that  moment  than  the  Bad  Lands  of  the  Little 
Missouri;  and  Mrs.  Sewall  and  Mrs.  Dow  could 
have  been  counted  on  to  handle  firearms  as  fear- 
lessly if  not  as  accurately  as  Bill  himself.  But 
Bill  tended  the  famished,  unhappy-looking  potato- 
patch  for  them,  and  with  characteristic  cheerfulness 
did  the  other  chores,  being  quite  content  to  leave 
to  Roosevelt  and  Dow  and  another  young  cow- 
puncher  named  Rowe  the  riding  of  "  sunfishers  " 
and  such  things.  He  had  a  level  head  and  an  equa- 
ble temper,  and  the  cowpunchers  all  liked  him. 
When  a  drunken  cowboy,  who  had  been  a  colonel 
in  the  Confederate  army,  accosted  him  one  day  in 
Joe  Ferris's  store  with  the  object  apparently  of 
starting  a  fight,  it  was  Sewall's  quiet  good  nature 
that  made  his  efforts  abortive. 

"  You're  a  damned  pleasant-looking  man,"  ex- 
claimed the  Southerner. 

Sewall  smiled  at  him.  "  I  am,"  he  said.  "  You 
can't  find  a  pleasanter  man  anywhere  round." 
Which  was  the  essential  truth  about  Bill  Sewall.  > 

Of  all  Roosevelt's  friends  up  and  down  the  river, 
Sewall's  nephew.  Will  Dow,  was  possibly  the  one 
who  had  the  rarest  qualities  of  intellect  and  spirit. 
He  had  a  poise  and  a  winsome  lovableness  that  was 
not  often  found  in  that  wild  bit  of  country  combined 
with  such  ruggedness  of  character.  He  had  a  droll 
and  altogether  original  sense  of  humor,  and  an 
imagination  which  struck  Roosevelt  as  extraordinary 


314       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

in  its  scope  .and  power  and  which  disported  itself 
in  the  building  of  delightful  yarns. 

"  He  was  always  a  companion  that  was  sought 
wherever  he  went,"  said  Bill  Sewall.  "  There  are 
men  who  have  the  faculty  of  pleasing  and  creating 
mirth  and  he  was  one  of  that  kind." 

Rowfe  was  a  different  sort,  of  coarser  fiber,  but 
himself  not  without  charm.  He  was  a  natural 
horseman,  fearless  to  recklessness,  an  excellent 
worker,  and  a  fighting  man  with  a  curious  streak 
of  gentleness  in  him  that  revolted  against  the 
cruelty  of  the  branding-iron.  Most  men  accepted 
the  custom  of  branding  cattle  and  horses  as  a 
matter  of  course.  There  was,  in  fact,  nothing  to 
do  save  accept  it,  for  there  was  no  other  method 
of  indicating  the  ownership  of  animals  which  could 
be  reasonably  relied  on  to  defy  the  ingenuity  of 
the  thieves.  Attempts  to  create  opinion  against  it 
were  regarded  as  sentimental  and  pernicious  and 
were  suppressed  with  vigor.  \ 

But  Rowe  had  plenty  of  courage.  "  Branding 
cattle  is  rotten,"  he  insisted,  in  season  and  out  of 
season;  adding  on  one  occasion  to  a  group  of  cow- 
punchers  standing  about  a  fire  with  branding-irons 
in  their  hands,  "  and  you  who  do  the  branding  are 
all  going  to  hell." 

"  Aw,"  exclaimed  a  cowboy,  "  there  ain't  no 
hell!" 

"  You  watch,"  Rowe  retorted.  "  You'll  get  there 
and  burn  just  as  that  there  cow." 

In  comparison  to  the  lowfer  reaches  of  the  Little 


THE  WADSWORTHS'  DOG  315 

Missouri  where  Elkhorn  Ranch  was  situated,  the 
country  about  the  Maltese  Cross  was  densely 
populated.  Howard  Eaton,  eight  or  ten  miles  away 
on  Beaver  Creek,  was  Elkhorn's  closest  neighbor 
to  the  north;  "  Farmer"  Young,  the  only  man  in 
the  Bad  Lands  who  had  as  yet  attacked  the  problem 
of  agriculture  in  that  region,  was  the  nearest  neigh- 
bor to  the  south.  Six  or  eight  miles  beyond  Farmer 
Young  lived  some  people  named  Wadsworth. 

Wadsworth  was  an  unsocial  being  whom  no  one 
greatly  liked.  He  had  been  the  first  man  to  bring 
cattle  into  the  Bad  Lands,  and  it  was  some  of  his 
cattle,  held  by  Ferris  and  Merrifield  on  shares, 
which  Roosevelt  had  bought  in  the  autumn  of  1883. 

Roosevelt's  first  call  on  Mrs.  Wadsworth  had  its 
serio-comic  aspects.  The  Wadsworths  had  a  great 
wolf-hound  whom  Roosevelt  himself  described  as 
"  a  most  ill-favored  hybrid,  whose  mother  was  a 
Newfoundland  and  whose  father  was  a  large  wolf," 
and  which  looked,  it  seemed,  more  like  a  hyena 
than  like  either  of  its  parents.  The  dog  both  barked 
and  howled,  but  it  had  a  disconcerting  habit  of 
doing  neither  when  it  was  on  business  bent.  The 
first  intimation  Roosevelt  had  of  its  existence  one 
day,  as  he  was  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  Wads- 
worth cabin,  was  a  rush  that  the  animal  made  for 
his  trousers. 

Pete  Pellessier,  a  round-faced,  genial  cowpuncher 
from  Texas,  subsequently  told  about  it.  "It  was 
one  of  those  dogs  that  come  sneaking  around, 
never  a  growi  or  anything  else  —  just  grab  a  hunk 


3i6       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

of  your  leg  to  let  you  know  they're  around.  That's 
the  kind  of  a  dog  this  was.  Roosevelt  just  started 
to  make  a  bow  to  Mrs.  Wadsworth,  'way  over,  real 
nice.  Well,  that  dog  flew  and  grabbed  him  in  the 
seat  of  the  pants  —  he  had  on  corduroy  pants. 

Get  out  of  here,  you  son-of-a-gun ! '  he  says; 
'  get  out  of  here,  I  tell  you !  ' 

"  Then  he  turns  to  Mrs.  Wadsworth.  *  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Mrs.  Wadsworth,'  he  says  politely,  '  that 
dog  was  grabbing  me  an'  — ' 

"  Just  then  the  dog  reached  for  another  helping. 
'  Get  out  of  here! '  Roosevelt  shouts  to  the  dog,  and 
then  turns  back,  '  How  do  you  do?  '  he  says  to  Mrs. 
Wadsworth.  But  the  dog  came  back  a  third  time, 
and  that  time  Roosevelt  gave  that  wolf-hound  a 
kick  that  landed  him  about  ten  rods  off.  An' 
Roosevelt  went  on  with  his  visiting." 

It  was  a  free  and  joyous  life  that  Roosevelt 
lived  with  his  warm-hearted  companions  at  Elkhorn 
those  late  summer  days  of  1885.  Now  and  then, 
when  work  was  done,  he  would  sit  on  the  porch  for 
an  hour  or  two  at  a  time,  watching  the  cattle  on 
the  sand-bars,  "  while,"  as  he  wrote  subsequently, 
"  the  vultures  wheeled  overhead,  their  black 
shadows  gliding  across  the  glaring  white  of  the 
dry  river-bed."  Often  he  would  sink  into  his 
rocking-chair,  grimy  and  hot  after  the  day's  work, 
and  read  Keats  and  Swinburne  for  the  contrast 
their  sensuous  music  offered  to  the  vigorous  realities 
about  him;  or,  forgetting  books,  he  would  just 
rock  back  and  forth,  looking  sleepily  out  across  the 


DUSK  AT  ELKHORN  317 

river  while  the  scarlet  crests  of  the  buttes  softened 
to  rose  and  then  to  lavender,  and  lavender  gave 
place  to  shadowy  gray,  and  gray  gave  place  to  the 
luminous  purple  of  night.  The  leaves  of  the  cotton- 
wood  trees  before  the  house  were  never  still,  and 
often  the  cooing  of  mourning  doves  would  come 
down  to  him  from  some  high  bough.  He  heard 
the  thrush  in  the  thicket  near  by,  and  in  the  distance 
the  clanging  cries  of  the  water-fowl.  He  knew  the 
note  of  every  bird,  and  they  were  like  friends  calling 
to  him. 


XIX 

We're  the  children  of  the  open  and  we  hate  the  haunts  o'  men, 

But  we  had  to  come  to  town  to  get  the  mail. 
And  we're  ridin'  home  at  daybreak  —  'cause  the  air  is  cooler  then  — 

All  'cept  one  of  us  that  stopped  behind  in  jail. 
Shorty's  nose  won't  bear  paradin',  Bill's  off  eye  is  darkly  fadin', 

All  our  toilets  show  a  touch  of  disarray; 
For  we  found  that  City  life  is  a  constant  round  of  strife, 

And  we  ain't  the  breed  for  shyin'  from  a  fray. 

Chant  your  war-whoops,  pardners  dear,  while  the  east  turns  pale  with 
fear, 
And  the  chaparral  is  tremblin'  all  aroun'; 
For  we're  wicked  to  the  marrer;  we're  a  midnight  dream  of  terror. 
When  we're  ridin'  up  the  rocky  trail  from  town! 

Badger  Clark 

Meanwhile,  as  the  months  passed  by,  Medora 
was  growing,  and  stretching  itself.  Even  the  Man- 
dan  Pioneer,  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  to  the  east, 
thought  it  worth  its  while  to  brag  about  it. 

Medora  is  distinctively  a  cattle  town  [runs  the  com- 
ment], and  is  ambitious  to  be  the  cattle  market  of  the 
Northwest.  In  two  years  it  has  grown  from  absolutely 
nothing  to  be  a  town  which  possesses  a  number  of  fine 
buildings,  and  represents  a  great  many  dollars  of  capital. 
The  Black  Hills  freight  depot  is  a  well-built,  substantial 
building.  A  number  of  brick  houses  have  been  built 
during  the  last  year,  including  a  very  neat  and  attractive 
Catholic  church,  and  a  large  hotel. 

The  Pioneer  did  not  see  fit  to  say  that  most  of 
the  "  fine  buildings  "  had  been  built  by  one  man 
and  that  on  the  slender  reed  of  that  man's  business 
acumen  the  prosperity  of  the  whole  community 


MEDORA  319 

rested.  To  have  done  so  would  possibly  have 
seemed  like  looking  a  gift-horse  in  the  mouth.  And 
Medora's  prosperity  appeared  solid  enough,  in  all 
conscience.  Things  were,  in  fact,  humming.  There 
was  now  a  clothing  store  in  town,  a  drug  store,  a 
hardware  store,  a  barber  shop.  Backed  by  Roose- 
velt, Joe  Ferris  had  erected  a  two-stor>^  structure 
on  the  eastern  bank  and  moved  his  store  from  Little 
Missouri  to  be  an  active  rival  of  the  Marquis's 
company  store.  A  school  was  built  (by  whom  and 
with  what  funds  remains  mysterious)  and  Bill 
Dantz  was  made  Superintendent  of  Education; 
and  next  to  Joe's  store,  opposite  the  office  of  the 
Bad  Lands  Cowboy,  Fisher  laid  the  beginnings  of 
Medora's  Great  White  Way  with  a  roller-skating 
pavilion,  where  the  cowboys  who  drifted  into  town, 
drunk  or  sober,  exhibited  their  skill  to  the  hilarious 
delight  of  their  friends. 

But  the  architectural  monuments  in  which 
Medora's  opulence  most  vigorously  expressed  itself 
were  the  saloons.  The  number  of  these  varied, 
according  to  the  season.  Sometimes  there  were  a 
dozen,  sometimes  there  were  more,  for  no  one 
bothered  about  a  license  and  any  one  with  ten 
dollars  and  a  jug  of  rum  could  start  his  own  "  liquor 
parlor." 

Among  the  saloons  Bill  Williams's  stood  in  a  class 
by  itself.  He,  too,  had  followed  civilization  to 
Medora,  establishing  himself  first  in  a  small  building 
near  Joe's  store,  and,  when  that  burnt  down,  in 
an  imposing  two-story  frame  structure  which  the 


320       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Marquis  de  Mores  built  for  him.  The  bar-room  was 
on  the  first  floor  and  above  it  was  a  huge  hall  which 
was  used  for  public  meetings  and  occasionally  for 
dances.  The  relation  of  the  dance-hall  to  the  bar- 
room had  its  disadvantages,  especially  when  the 
shooting  began.  The  bar-room  itself  was  a  sumptu- 
ous affair,  for  Williams  had  the  shrewdness  to  know 
that  it  was  not  only  rum  that  the  lonely  cowpuncher 
sought  when  he  pushed  in  the  swinging  doors.  The 
place  Was  never  closed,  night  or  day,  and  the  faro 
wheel  was  seldom  silent. 

The  other  saloons  could  not  compete  with  the 
gorgeousness  with  which  Bill  Williams  edged  the 
cloud  of  robbery  and  ruin  that  hung  about  his 
iniquitous  saloon;  when  they  seemed  for  a  night  to 
compete,  drawing  to  their  own  hospitable  bars  the 
cowpunchers  whom  Williams  looked  upon  as  his 
own  legitimate  prey,  he  had  a  way  of  standing  at 
his  door  and  shooting  indiscriminately  into  the 
night.  Out  of  a  dozen  rum-shops  would  pour 
excited  cowboys  eager  to  know  "  what  the  shooting 
was  about,"  and  as  they  crowded  inquisitively 
about  his  bar,  trade  would  once  more  become  brisk 
in  Bill  Williams's  saloon. 

Bill  Williams  was  a  bona-fide  "  bad  man."  So 
also  was  Maunders.  But  they  were  of  Medora's 
hundred-odd  permanent  inhabitants  during  that 
summer  of  1885,  the  only  ones  who  might  with 
complete  fidelity  to  facts  have  been  so  designated. 
Others  blew  in  and  blew  out  again,  creating  a  little 
disturbance  and  drifting  west.   The  great  majority 


HELL-ROARING  BILL  JONES 


BILL  WILLIAMS'S  SALOON 
(1919) 


STYLES  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS  321 

of  Medora's  noisy  population  were  merely  light- 
hearted  youngsters  who  had  not  yet  outgrown  their 
love  for  fire-crackers. 

Under  the  title  "  Styles  in  the  Bad  Lands,"  the 
Dickinson  Press  reprinted  certain  "  fashion  notes  " 
from  the  columns  of  an  enterprising  con  temporary' : 

The  Estelline  (Dak.)  Bell  has  been  at  some  trouble 
to  collect  the  following  latest  fashion  notes  for  the 
benefit  of  its  Bad  Lands  readers:  The  "  gun  "  is  still 
worn  on  the  right  hip,  slightly  lower  down  than  formerly. 
This  makes  it  more  convenient  to  get  at  during  a  dis- 
cussion with  a  friend.  The  regular  "  forty-five  "  still 
remains  a  favorite.  Some  affect  a  smaller  caliber,  but 
it  is  looked  upon  as  slightly  dudish.  A  "  forty,"  for 
instance,  may  induce  a  more  artistic  opening  in  an  ad- 
versary, but  the  general  effect  and  mortality  is  impaired. 
The  plug  of  tobacco  is  still  worn  in  the  pocket  on  the 
opposite  side  from  the  shooter,  so  when  reaching  for 
the  former,  friends  will  not  misinterpret  the  move  and 
subsequently  be  present  at  your  funeral.  It  is  no  longer 
considered  necessary  to  wait  for  introductions  before 
proceeding  to  get  the  drop.  There  will  be  time  enough 
for  the  mere  outward  formalities  of  politeness  at  the 
inquest.  The  trimming  of  the  "  iron  "  is  still  classic 
and  severe,  only  a  row  of  six  cartridges  grouped  around 
the  central  barrel  being  admissible.  Self-cockers  are 
now  the  only  style  seen  in  the  best  circles.^  Much  of 
the  effectiveness  of  the  gun  was  formerly  destroyed  by 
having  to  thumb  up  the  hammer,  especially  when  the 
person  with  whom  you  were  conversing  wore  the  self- 

1  "Whoever  wrote  that  was  badly  off  his  base.  The  simon-pure 
cowpuncher  would  not  accept  a  self-cocker  as  a  gift.  They  laughed  at 
them  in  fact.  Once,  on  a  bet,  a  cowpuncher  shot  off  all  six  shots  with 
his  single-action  Colt.  45  while  his  opponent  was  getting  ofT  three  with 
his  self-cocker."  —  Lincoln  Lang. 


322       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

cocking  variety.  It  has  been  found  that  on  such  occa- 
sions the  old-style  gun  was  but  Httle  used  except  in  the 
way  of  circumstantial  evidence  at  the  inquest.  Shooting 
from  the  belt  without  drawing  is  considered  hardly  the 
thing  among  gentlemen  who  do  not  wish  to  be  considered 
as  attempting  to  attract  notice.  In  cases  where  the 
gentleman  with  whom  you  are  holding  a  joint  debate 
already  has  the  drop,  his  navy  six  having  a  hair  trigger, 
and  he  being  bound  to  shoot,  anyway,  this  style  of  dis- 
cussion is  allowable,  though  apt  to  cause  a  coldness  to 
spring  up.  As  regards  the  number  of  guns  which  it  is 
admissible  to  wear,  great  latitude  is  allowed,  from  one 
up  to  four  being  noted  on  the  street  and  at  social  gather- 
ings. One  or  two  is  generally  considered  enough,  except 
where  a  sheriff  with  a  reputation  of  usually  getting  his 
man  and  a  Winchester  rifle  is  after  you,  when  we  cannot 
too  strongly  impress  upon  the  mind  of  the  reader  the 
absolute  necessity  for  going  well  heeled. 

In  Medora  In  those  midsummer  days  of  1885, 
Hell-Roaring  Bill  Jones  was  the  life  of  every  party. 
Wherever  there  was  deviltry,  there  was  Bill  Jones, 
profane  and  obscene  beyond  description,  but  irre- 
sistibly comical.  He  was  as  lean  and  muscular  as 
John  Falstaff  was  short  and  fat,  but  the  divergences 
between  the  genial  old  reprobate  of  Eastcheap  and 
the  saturnine,  but  by  no  means  unlovable,  rap- 
scallion of  Medora  were  less  striking  than  the 
qualities  they  had  in  common.  He  had  good  friends, 
none  better  than  the  gay,  infinitely  pathetic  patri- 
cian's son,  Van  Zander,  who  played  Prince  Hal  to 
him,  light-heartedly  flipping  a  fortune  in  the  air  as 
others,  essentially  less  admirable,  might  have  flipped 
a  dollar. 


THE  COMING  OF  LAW  323 

"  Deacon  "  Cummins  thought  Bill  Jones  dread- 
ful, which  naturally  incited  Bill  Jones  always  to 
do  the  worst  that  w^s  in  him  to  do  whenever  the 
"  Deacon  "  was  within  earshot.  He  found  delight 
in  drawing  up  beside  him  on  the  round-up  and 
pouring  forth  every  evil  tale  he  knew. 

"  Jones,  I  don't  know  why  you  tell  those  stories 
when  I'm  around,"  the  "  Deacon  "  would  exclaim, 
not  without  pathos.    "  You  know  I  don't  like  them." 

After  his  first  encounter  with  Roosevelt  in  the 
office  of  the  Bad  Lands  Cowboy,  Bill  Jones  told  him 
no  foul  stories.  The  contrast  between  Bill  Jones's 
attitude  toward  a  virtuous  man  who  was  strong  and 
a  virtuous  man  who  was  weak  might  furnish  a 
theme  for  many  sermons. 

The  antics  of  Saturday  nights  were  many  and 
some  of  them  were  explosive,  but  on  the  ^whole  men 
looked  more  tolerantly  on  the  shackles  of  civilization 
in  Medora  in  1885  than  they  had  in  1884.  The  vig- 
ilantes' raid  had  undoubtedly  chased  the  fear  of 
God  into  the  hearts  of  the  evil-doers. 

Whatever  can  be  said  against  the  methods  adopted 
by  the  "  stranglers  "  who  came  through  here  last  fall 
[remarked  the  Bad  Lands  Cowboy],  it  cannot  but  be 
acknowledged  that  the  result  of  their  work  has  been 
very  wholesome.  Not  a  definite  case  of  horse-stealing 
from  a  cowman  has  been  reported  since,  and  it  seems 
as  though  a  very  thorough  clean-up  had  been  made. 

The  ranch-owners,  evidently,  did  not  find  the  sit- 
uation as  satisfactory  as  Packard  found  it,  for  in 
July  the  Little  Missouri  River  Stockmen's  Associa- 


324       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

tion,  of  which  Roosevelt  was  chairman,  determined 
to  organize  a  posse  to  "clean  up "  the  country  north 
of  the  railroad  between  the  Missouri  and  the  Little 
Missouri  rivers.  Osterhaut,  captain  of  the  round- 
up, was  appointed  leader  and  half  a  dozen  ranch- 
men contributed  a  cowboy  apiece.  Roosevelt  sent 
Sewall  as  his  representative. 

The  route  was  through  about  as  wild  and  unsettled 
a  portion  of  the  country  as  can  be  found  now,  so  the 
people  here  say  [Sewall  wrote  his  brother  on  his  return], 
and  the  oldest  heads  seemed  to  think  thare  might  be 
some  danger,  but  we  saw  nothing  worse  than  ourselves. 

Once  more,  that  August,  Packard  raised  his 
voice  in  favor  of  the  organization  of  the  county,  but 
once  more  mysterious  forces  blocked  his  efforts. 
Meanwhile,  the  Stockmen's  Association  was  ex- 
erting a  stabilizing  influence  that  was  as  quiet  as 
it  was  profound.  No  one  talked  about  it,  or  thought 
much  about  it.  But  to  evil-doers,  it  loomed  un- 
comfortably in  the  background.  Sometime  during 
the  year  1885,  the  Association  voted  to  employ  a 
stock  inspector  at  Medora  to  examine  the  brands 
of  all  cattle  shipped  thence  to  Chicago.  This  was 
a  distinct  check  to  the  thieves,  and  might  have 
been  checkmate,  if  the  Association  had  not  seen 
fit  to  appoint  to  the  position  the  same  Joe  Morrill 
who  as  United  States  deputy  marshal  had  already 
exhibited  a  tenderness  toward  the  lawbreakers 
which  was  almost  if  not  altogether  criminal.  What 
Roosevelt's  attitude  was  to  this  appointment  is 
not  known ;  but  he  was  under  no  illusions  in  regard 
to  Morrill. 


THE  PREACHERS  325 

Amid  the  tumult  and  excitement  of  life  in  Medora 
that  summer  of  1885,  the  consolations  of  organized 
religion  were  more  inaccessible  even  than  the  services 
of  an  earthly  physician,  and  there  was  no  servant 
of  Christ,  of  any  creed  or  any  denomination,  who 
ministered  to  the  men  and  women  scattered  through 
that  wild  region  in  a  manner  even  remotely  compar- 
able to  the  self-sacrificing  devotion  with  which  Dr. 
Stickney  ministered  to  them.  That  excellent  dis- 
ciple of  the  Lord  doctored  broken  spirits  even  as 
he  doctored  broken  bodies.  The  essentials  of  re- 
ligion, which  are  love  and  service,  he  gave  with 
both  hands  from  a  full  heart;  the  "trimmings" 
he  left  to  the  parsons. 

These  "  trimmings  "  were,  it  seemed,  the  only 
things  which  the  few  professional  men  of  God  who 
drifted  into  INIedora  were  able  to  contribute.  With 
the  exception  of  the  Roman  Catholic  chapel, 
erected  by  the  Marquise  de  Mores  as  a  thank- 
offering  after  the  birth  of  her  two  children,  there 
was  no  church  of  any  denomination  in  Little  Mis- 
souri or  Medora,  or,  in  fact,  anywhere  in  Billings 
County;  and  in  the  chapel  there  were  services  not 
more  than  once  or  twice  a  month.  Occasionally 
an  itinerant  Methodist  or  Baptist,  whom  no  one 
knew  anything  about,  blew  in  from  anywhere, 
and  blew  out  again;  and  if  he  was  seen  no  more 
there   were  no   lamentations.^  Services   of   a   sort 

1  The  Dickinson  Press  burst  into  verse  in  describing  the  exploits 
of  one  of  the  preachers. 

"Of  a  gospel  preacher  we  now  will  tell 
Who  started  from  Glendive  to  save  souls  from  hell. 


326       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

were  held  in  the  "  depot,"  in  one  of  the  stores  or 
in  the  dance-hall  over  Bill  Williams's  saloon,  but 
attendance  was  scanty. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  Bad  Lands  did  not  greatly 
feel  the  need  of  spiritual  instruction,  and  were 
inclined  to  seek  consolation,  when  they  needed 
it,  in  "  Forty-Mile  Red-Eye  "  rather  than  in  the- 
ology. 

"  Anything  or  any  one  associated  with  religion 
or  spiritual  living  was  shunned,"  Bill  Dantz  ex- 
plained in  after  days,  "  religion  being  looked  on  as 
an  institution  for  old  women  and  weaklings.  Such 
traveling  evangelists  and,  later,  regular  pastors  as 
came  to  the  Northwest  were  treated  with  respect, 
but  never  came  within  miles  of  the  intimacy  or 
confidence  of  the  cowboys.  Such  early  congrega- 
tions as  clustered  about  the  pioneer  churches  were 
the  newly  arrived  '  nesters  '  or  homesteaders  of 
the  towns;  the  cowboys  never.  There  could  be 
no  possible  community  of  interests  between  book- 

At  the  Little  Missouri  he  struck  a  new  game, 
With  the  unregenerate,  '  Honest  John '  is  its  name. 

"He  indulged  too  much  in  the  flowing  bowls, 
And  forgot  all  about  the  saving  of  souls, 
But  'dropped'  his  three  hundred,  slept  sweetly  and  well, 
And  let  the  Little  Missourians  wander  to 

that  place  whose  main  principles  of  political  economy  are 

brimstone  and  caloric." 

But  the  verses  tell  only  half  the  story.  As  Sylvane  Ferris  relates  it 
Bill  Williams,  conniving  with  Jess  Hogue  to  fleece  the  preacher,  gave 
him  the  impression  that  he  too  was  losing  heavily;  and  actually  shed 
tears.  The  preacher  was  heard  to  murmur,  as  he  staggered  into  the 
night,  "  I  don't  mind  losing  my  own  money,  but  I  am  so  sorry  for 
that  nice  Mr.  Williams." 


PACKARD'S  PARSON  327 

learned  men  of  sedentary  profession  and  a  half- 
tamed,  open-range  horseman." 

The  reason,  of  course,  was  that  the  missionaries 
were  fundamentally  less  honest  and  virtuous  than 
the  gay-hearted  argonauts  to  whom  they  attempted 
to  bring  the  gospel;  and  their  patient  listeners,  who 
had  no  illusions  concerning  their  own  piety,  never- 
theless knew  it.  The  preachers,  moreover,  were 
less  than  human.  They  preached  interminable  ser- 
mons. Discourses  lasting  an  hour  and  a  half  were 
common,  and  even  lengthier  ones  were  not  unusual. 
The  parsons  were  hopelessly  thick-skinned,  more- 
over, and  impervious  to  hints.  When  on  one  occa- 
sion, at  which  Sylvane  was  present,  the  congrega- 
tion began  to  consult  their  watches,  the  preacher, 
instead  of  bringing  his  sermon  to  a  close,  ex- 
claimed, "  See  here,  you  don't  want  to  be  lookin' 
at  your  watches.    You  don't  hear  a  sermon  often." 

One  missionary,  the  representative  of  a  certain 
Home  Mission  Society,  came  to  Packard,  saying 
that  he  wanted  to  start  a  church  in  Medora,  and 
asking  Packard  for  his  moral  support.  Packard 
agreed  that  a  church  might  be  useful  and  secured 
the  baggage-room  at  the  "  depot  "  for  an  audito- 
rium. The  man  held  his  first  services,  preaching 
an  hour  and  a  half. 

"  See  here,"  said  Packard  when  the  performance 
was  over,  "  this  won't  do.  You  preach  altogether 
too  long." 

"  Well,"  asked  the  preacher,  "  how  long  shall  it 
be?  " 


328       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

"  Your  whole  service  oughtn't  to  be  longer  than 
your  sermon  was." 

The  missionary  it  appeared,  was  eager  to  please. 
The  following  Sunday  he  preached  three  quarters 
of  an  hour. 

But  Packard  was  still  dissatisfied.  "  Cut  it  to 
fifteen  minutes,"  he  insisted.  "  You  can  say  all 
you  have  to  say  in  that  time." 

The  third  Sunday  the  missionary  did  not  appear. 
He  had  found  it  necessary  to  make  a  swift  exit  from 
his  domicile,  departing  by  one  door  as  a  sheriff 
entered  by  another.  He  had,  it  seems,  knocked  in 
the  head  of  one  of  his  parishioners  with  a  hatchet. 

Experiences  of  this  sort  were  not  calculated  to 
inspire  respect  for  the  clergy  in  the  minds  of  the 
cowpunchers. 

'*  Them  preachers,"  Sylvane  subsequently  re- 
marked, "  broke  us  fellows  from  going  to  church." 

But  though  religion  did  not  flourish  in  the  alka- 
line soil  of  the  Bad  Lands,  the  fundamental  Ameri- 
can principle  of  orderly  government,  based  on  the 
consent  of  the  governed,  slowly  and  with  many 
setbacks  took  root.  The  town  of  Medora  itself 
began  to  sober  down.  Joe  Ferris  was  a  rock  of  de- 
fense for  law  and  order.  In  disputes,  instead  of 
clutching  at  the  six-shooter,  men  began  to  turn  to 
Joe  as  an  arbitrator,  knowing  that  he  was  honest 
and  fair  and  had  a  sense  of  humor.  Packard, 
moreover,  had  established  himself  firmly  in  the 
respect  and  affection  of  his  neighbors,  and  his 
reiterations,    week    after    week    and    month    after 


JOHNNY  O'HARA  329 

month,  of  certain  notions  of  order  and  decency, 
gradually  began  to  have  their  effect.  The  Cowboy 
became  the  dominant  factor  in  Medora's  struggle 
toward  maturity. 

From  out  of  the  blue  ether  and  the  whimsical 
generosity  of  Fate,  meanwhile,  had  come  an  assistant 
for  Packard  who  gave  new  zest  to  his  adventure. 
His  name  was  Johnny  O'Hara,  and  Packard  always 
insisted  that  he  came  as  a  gift  from  the  gods. 

"  In  all  literature  there  was  only  one  like  him," 
said  Packard  in  after  days,  "  and  that  was  Kim. 
And  Kim's  name  was  O'Hara.  As  chela  to  Teshoo 
Lama,  Kim  acquired  merit.  As  devil  in  the  Bad 
Lands  Cowboy  office,  Johnny  acquired  a  place  in 
my  estimation  only  to  be  described  in  the  beatitudes 
of  an  inspired  writer.  Kim  went  out  with  his 
begging-bowl  and  he  and  his  Lama  feasted  bounte- 
ously. Johnny  boarded  passenger  trains  with  an 
armful  of  the  Cowboy  and  returned  with  enough 
money  to  pay  current  expenses.  Kim  played  the 
great  game  with  Strickland  Sahib  and  attained 
rupees  sufficient  for  a  ride  on  the  tee-rain.  Johnny 
took  the  remains  of  a  bunch  of  bananas  I  had 
ordered  by  express  from  St.  Paul  and  sold  them  for 
enough  to  pay  for  the  first  and  even  a  second  one. 
Two  banana  feasts  for  nothing,  plus  a  profit!  Kim 
came  from  the  top  of  Zam-Zanneh  to  his  chelaship 
with  Teshoo  Lama.  Johnny  came  from  the  top  of 
Mount  Olympus  or  the  biggest  butte  in  the  Bad 
Lands  to  become  my  right  hand.  Blessed  be  the 
name  of  O'Hara,  be  it  Kim  or  Johnny." 


330       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

They  worked  together,  with  Joe  Ferris  and  Syl- 
vane  and  Merrifield  and  Gregor  Lang  and  Howard 
Eaton,  the  soHd  citizens,  and  Roosevelt,  the  aggres- 
sive champion  of  order,  to  estabhsh  America  in  a 
patch  of  sagebrush  wilderness. 


XX 

Bill's  head  was  full  o'  fire 

An'  his  gizzard  full  o'  rum, 
An'  the  things  he  said  wuz  rich  an'  red 

An'  rattled  as  they  come. 

Dave  wuz  on  his  stummick, 

Readin'  the  news  at  his  ease-like, 
When  Bill  comes,  brave,  sayin'  what  he'll  do  to  Dave 

In  words  what  could  walk  away,  cheese-like. 

or  Bill's  fist  wuz  man-size 

Sure  as  any  alive  — 
But  Dave,  never  squintin',  turns  over  the  printin' 

An'  there  wuz  his  Forty-five. 

Bill  he  chokes  an'  swallers, 

But  Dave  he's  gentle  an'  mild. 
An'  they  talks  together  o'  cows  an'  the  weather, 

An'  allows  they  is  re-con-ciled. 

From  Medora  Nights 

Where,  meanwhile,  was  the  Marquis  de  Mores? 

A  casual  observ^er,  during  the  spring  of  1885, 
might  have  remarked  that  physically  he  was  never 
long  at  any  one  place;  but  that  metaphorically  he 
was  on  the  crest  of  the  wave.  The  erection  of  the 
great  abattoir,  which  had  replaced  the  more  primi- 
tive structure  built  in  1883,  gave  an  impression 
of  great  prosperity.  Actually,  however,  it  was  a 
symptom  of  failure.  It  had,  in  fact,  been  erected 
only  because  of  the  irremediable  inefficiency  of  the 
original  smaller  structure.  By  the  end  of  1884  the 
Marquis  had  discovered  that  the  slaughtering  of 
twenty-five  head  of  cattle  a  day  could  not,  by 
the    most    painstaking    application    of    "  business 


332       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

methods,"  be  made  profitable.  It  took  more  than 
butchers,  the  Marquis  found,  to  operate  a  slaughter- 
house. An  engine  was  needed  and  an  engineer,  a 
foreman,  a  bookkeeper,  a  hide-man,  a  tallow-man,  a 
blood-man,  a  cooper,  and  a  night-watchman.  These 
men  could  easily  take  care  of  three  or  four  hundred 
head  a  day,  and  they  were  required  to  take  care 
only  of  twenty-five. 

The  Marquis  was  not  without  executive  ability. 
He  had,  since  the  preceding  autumn,  sought  com- 
petent advisers,  moreover,  and  followed  their  sug- 
gestions. Among  other  things,  these  advisers  had 
told  him  that,  owing  to  the  unusual  quality  of  the 
stem-cured  grass  in  the  Bad  Lands,  beef  fit  for 
market  could  be  slaughtered  as  early  as  the  first  of 
June  when  beef  commanded  a  high  price. 

Accordingly,  on  June  ist  the  new  abattoir  was 
opened.  Every  precaution  against  waste  had,  it 
seemed,  been  taken,  and  for  fear  lest  the  branch 
houses  in  Kansas  City,  Bismarck,  and  elsewhere 
should  be  unable  to  absorb  the  output  of  the  slaugh- 
ter-house and  interrupt  its  steady  operation,  the 
Marquis  secured  a  building  on  West  Jackson 
Street,  Chicago,  where  the  wholesale  dealers  in 
dressed  beef  had  their  stalls,  with  the  purpose  of 
there  disposing  of  his  surplus. 

A  hundred  head  of  cattle  were  slaughtered  daily 
at  the  new  abattoir.  At  last  the  plant  was  efficient. 
The  Marquis  had  a  right  to  congratulate  himself. 
But  unexpectedly  a  fresh  obstacle  to  success  ob- 
truded itself.   The  experts  had    been  wrong;    the 


HOTEL  DE  MORES 


THE  ABATTOIR  OF  THE  MARQUIS  DE  MORES 


DE  MORES  THE  UNDAUNTED  333 

beef  proved  of  poor  quality.  The  branch  houses 
disposed  of  it  with  difficulty,  and  the  retail  dealers 
in  Chicago  refused  to  buy.  Although  dressed  beef 
was  produced  there  in  enormous  quantities  for 
Eastern  markets,  the  local  consumer  had  a  prejudice 
against  cold-storage  meat.  He  did  not  like  grass- 
fed  beef,  moreover.  It  was  as  good  or  better  than 
corn-fed  beef,  but  he  was  not  accustomed  to  it,  and 
would  not  change  his  habits  even  at  a  saving. 

It  was  a  staggering  blow,  but  the  Marquis  was 
a  fighting  man  and  he  took  it  without  wincing. 
Packard,  discussing  the  situation  with  him  one  day, 
pointed  out  to  him  that  the  cattle  could  not  pos- 
sibly be  stall-fed  before  they  were  slaughtered  as  no 
cattle  feed  was  raised  short  of  the  corn  country, 
hundreds  of  miles  to  the  south. 

The  Marquis  was  not  noticeably  perturbed  by 
this  recital  of  an  obvious  fact.  "  I  am  arranging  to 
buy  up  the  hop  crop  of  the  Pacific  coast,"  he 
answered  calmly.  "  This  I  will  sell  to  the  Mil- 
waukee and  St.  Louis  brewers  on  an  agreement 
that  they  shall  return  to  me  all  the  resultant  malt 
after  their  beer  is  made.  This  I  will  bring  to  Medora 
in  tank  cars.  It  is  the  most  concentrated  and  fatten- 
ing food  to  be  bought.  I  will  cover  the  town  site 
south  of  the  track  with  individual  feeding-pens; 
thousands  of  them.  Not  only  can  I  hold  fat  cattle 
as  long  as  I  wish,  but  Iiwill  feed  cattle  all  the  year 
round  and  always  have  enough  to  keep  the  abattoir 
running." 

There  was  something  gorgeous  in  the  Marquis's 


334       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

inability  to  know  when  he  was  beaten.  His  power 
of  self-hypnotism  was  in  fact,  amazing,  and  the 
persistence  with  which  he  pursued  new  bubbles,  in 
his  efforts  to  escape  from  the  devils  which  the  old 
ones  had  hatched  as  they  burst,  had  its  attractive 
side. 

"  The  Medora  Stage  and  Forwarding  Company," 
the  Dickinson  Press  announced  on  May  i6th,  "  is 
a  total  wreck."  It  was;  and  shortly  after.  Van 
Driesche,  most  admirable  of  valets  and  now  the 
Marquis's  private  secretary,  went  with  "  Johnny  " 
Goodall,  foreman  of  the  Marquis's  ranch,  to  Dead- 
wood  to  salvage  what  they  could  from  the  rocks. 

But  two  weeks  later  the  Marquis  had  a  new 
dream.  The  Pre^^  announced  it;  "  The  Marquis  de 
Mores  believes  he  has  discovered  kaoline,  a  clay 
from  which  the  finest  pottery  is  made,  near  the 
town  of  Medora."  The  inference  is  clear.  If  Me- 
dora could  not  rival  Chicago,  it  might  easily  rival 
Sevres  or  Copenhagen. 

For  all  the  Marquis's  endeavors  to  outface 
fortune,  however,  and  to  win  success  somewhere, 
somehow,  beyond  this  valley  of  a  hundred  failures, 
the  Nemesis  which  every  m.an  creates  out  of  his 
limitations  was  drawing  her  net  slowly  and  irresist- 
ibly about  him.  He  had  no  friends  in  Medora.  His 
foreign  ways  and  his  alien  attitude  of  mind  kept 
him,  no  doubt  against  his  own  desires,  outside  the 
warm  circle  of  that  very  human  society.  He  was 
an  aristocrat,  and  he  did  not  understand  the  demo- 
cratic individualism  of  the  men  about  him.    "  The 


GENEALOGY  OF  THE  MARQUIS        335 

Marquis,"  as  one  of  his  associates  later  explained, 
"  alwa^^s  had  the  idea  of  being  the  head  of  something 
or  other,  and  tried  to  run  everything  he  had  any- 
thing to  do  with." 

The  Marquis  loved  the  Bad  Lands;  there  was 
no  question  about  that.  *'  I  like  this  country,"  he 
said  to  J.  W.  Foley,  who  became  his  superintendent 
about  this  time,  "  because  there  is  room  to  turn 
around  without  stepping  on  the  feet  of  others." 
The  trouble  was,  however,  that  with  a  man  of  the 
Marquis's  qualities  and  limitations,  the  Desert  of 
Sahara  would  scarcely  have  been  wide  enough  and 
unsettled  enough  to  keep  him  content  with  his  own 
corner  of  it.  He  seemed  fated  to  step  on  other 
people's  toes,  possibly  because  at  bottom  he  did  not 
greatly  care  if  he  did  step  on  them  when  they  got 
in  the  way. 

"  De  Mores,"  said  Lincoln  Lang,  "  seemed  to 
think  that  some  sort  of  divine  right  reposed  in  him 
to  absorb  the  entire  Little  Missouri  country  and 
everything  in  it." 

He  had  king's  blood  In  him.  In  fact,  and  the 
genealogy  which  he  solemnly  revealed  to  Foley 
reached  into  an  antiquity  staggeringly  remote,  and 
made  Bourbons  and  Guelphs,  Hohenzollerns  and 
Hapsburgs  appear  by  comparison  as  very  shoddy 
parvenus.  He  claimed  descent  on  the  maternal  side 
from  Caius  Mucins,  who,  as  Livy  relates,  crossed 
the  Tiber  to  slay  King  Porsena  and  killed  the  King's 
secretary  by  mistake,  a  piece  of  business  so  similar 
to  certain  actions  of  the  man  who  claimed  him  for 


336       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

an  ancestor  as  to  lend  some  color  to  the  claim.  De 
Mores  was  related  more  or  less  nearly  to  the  Orleans 
family  which  had  never  renounced  what  it  regarded 
as  its  title  to  the  throne  of  France;  and  he  himself 
had  his  eye  on  a  crown.  Behind  all  his  activities 
in  the  Bad  Lands  Icomed  a  grandiose  purpose.  To 
one  or  two  of  his  associates  he  revealed  it.  He  would 
make  a  great  fortune  in  America,  he  declared,  then 
return  to  France  and,  with  the  glitter  of  his  dollars 
about  him,  gain  control  of  the  French  army  and  by 
a  coup  d'etat  make  himself  King  of  France. 

It  was  a  gorgeous  piece  of  day-dreaming;  but  its 
fulfillment  was,  in  those  middle  eighties,  not  beyond 
the  border  of  the  possible. 

As  the  only  rival  for  leadership  in  the  Bad  Lands 
of  this  aspirant  for  a  throne  stood,  by  one  of  Fate's 
queerest  whimsies,  a  man  who  also  had  his  eye 
on  one  of  the  high  places  of  this  world.  The  Mar- 
quis de  Mores  was  the  leader,  or  if  not  the  leader 
at  least  the  protector,  of  the  forces  of  reaction; 
Theodore  Roosevelt  was  the  leader  of  the  forces  of 
progress.  They  were  both  in  the  middle  twenties, 
both  aristocrats  by  birth,  both  fearless  and  adven- 
turous; but  one  believed  in  privilege  and  the  other 
believed  in  equality  of  opportunity. 

"  When  it  came  to  a  show-down,  the  Marquis 
was  always  there,"  said  Dr.  Stickney,  who  watched 
the  quiet  struggle  for  supremacy  with  a  philosophic 
eye,  "but  he  had  no  judgment.  You  couldn't  ex- 
pect it.  He  was  brought  up  in  the  army.  He  was 
brought  up  in  social  circles  that  didn't   develop 


ROOSEVELT  AND  THE  MARQUIS       337 

judgment.  He  didn't  know  how  to  mix  with  the 
cowboys.  When  he  did  mix  with  any  of  them,  it 
was  always  with  the  worst  element.  Now,  when 
Roosevelt  came  to  the  Bad  Lands  he  naturally 
attracted  the  better  element  among  the  cowboys, 
such  men  as  the  Ferrises  and  Merrifield,  men  of 
high  character  whose  principles  were  good." 

And  Packard  said:  "  Roosevelt  was  the  embodi- 
ment of  the  belief  of  obedience  to  the  law  and  the 
right  of  the  majority  to  change  it.  The  Marquis 
was  equally  honest  in  his  belief  that  he  himself  was 
the  law  and  that  he  had  a  divine  right  to  change 
the  law  as  he  wished." 

The  conflict  between  the  two  forces  in  the  com- 
munity was  quiet  but  persistent.  Roosevelt  dined 
on  occasion  with  the  Marquis  and  the  Marquis 
dined  on  occasion  with  Roosevelt;  they  discussed 
horsemanship  and  hunting  and  books;  at  the  meet- 
ing of  the  Montana  Stockgrowers'  Association  at 
Miles  City  in  April,  that  year,  the  Marquis  pro- 
posed Roosevelt  for  membership;  on  the  surface, 
in  fact,  they  got  along  together  most  amicably. 
But  under  the  surface  fires  were  burning. 

On  one  occasion,  when  Roosevelt  and  the  Marquis 
were  both  in  the  East,  Roosevelt  sent  a  message 
to  his  sister  "  Bamie,"  with  whom  he  was  living, 
telling  her  that  he  had  invited  the  Marquis  and  his 
wife  to  dinner  that  evening.  The  message  that 
came  back  from  "  Bamie  "  was,  in  substance,  as 
follows:  "  By  all  means  bring  them.  But  please 
let  me  know  beforehand  whether  you  and  the  Mar- 


338       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

quis  are  on  friendly  terms  at  the  moment  or  are 
likely  to  spring  at  each  other's  throat." 

"  Theodore  did  not  care  for  the  Marquis,"  said 
"  Bamie  "  in  later  years,  "  but  he  was  sorry  for  his 
wife  and  was  constantly  helping  the  Marquis  out 
of  the  scrapes  he  was  forever  getting  into  with  the 
other  cattlemen." 

There  were  many  reasons  why  the  relations  be- 
tween the  two  men  should  not  have  been  notice- 
ably cordial.  Roosevelt  had  from  the  start  thrown 
in  his  lot  with  the  men  who  had  been  most  empha- 
tic in  their  denunciation  of  the  Marquis's  part  in 
the  killing  of  Riley  Luffsey.  Gregor  Lang,  who  was 
the  Marquis's  most  caustic  critic,  was  Roosevelt's 
warm  friend.  "  Dutch  Wannigan,"  moreover,  who 
had  been  saved  only  by  a  miracle  in  the  memor- 
able ambuscade,  was  one  of  Roosevelt's  cow-hands. 
That  summer  of  1885  he  was  night-herder  for  the 
Maltese  Cross  "  outfit."  He  was  a  genial  soul  and 
Roosevelt  liked  him.  No  doubt  he  was  fascinated 
also  by  his  remarkable  memory,  for  "  Wannigan," 
who  was  unable  to  read  or  write,  could  be  sent  to 
town  with  a  verbal  order  for  fifty  items,  and  could 
be  counted  on  not  only  to  bring  every  article  he  had 
been  sent  for,  but  to  give  an  exact  accounting,  item 
by  item,  of  every  penny  he  had  spent.  For  the 
Marquis  the  presence  of  "  Dutch  Wannigan  "  in 
Roosevelt's  "  outfit "  was,  no  doubt,  convincing 
evidence  of  Roosevelt's  own  attitude  in  regard  to 
the  memorable  affray  of  June  26th,  1883.  Whatever 
irritation  he  may  have  felt  toward  Roosevelt  be- 


HOSTILITY  339 

cause  of  it  could  scarcely  have  been  mollified  by 
the  fact  that  "  Dutch  Wannigan,"  in  his  quiet  way, 
was  moving  heaven  and  earth  to  bring  about  the 
indictment  of  the  Marquis  for  murder. 

But  there  was  another  reason  why  the  relations 
between  the  Marquis  and  Roosevelt  were  strained. 
In  the  Marquis's  business  ventures  he  was  con- 
stantly being  confronted  by  unexpected  and,  in  a 
sense,  unaccountable  obstacles,  that  rose  suddenly 
out  of  what  appeared  a  clear  road,  and  thwarted 
his  plans.  The  railroads,  which  gave  special  rates 
to  shippers  who  did  far  less  business  than  he,  found 
for  one  reason  or  another  that  they  could  not  give 
him  any  rebate  at  all.  Wholesale  dealers  refused, 
for  reasons  which  remained  mysterious,  to  handle 
his  meat;  yard-men  at  important  junctions  delayed 
his  cars.  He  could  not  help  but  be  conscious  that 
principalities  and  powers  that  he  could  not  identify 
were  working  in  the  dark  against  him.  He  suspected 
that  the  meat-packers  of  Chicago  had  passed  the 
word  to  their  allies  in  Wall  Street  that  he  was  to 
be  destroyed;  and  assumed  that  Roosevelt,  bound 
by  a  dozen  ties  to  the  leaders  in  the  business  life 
of  New  York,  was  in  league  with  his  enemies. 

A  totally  unexpected  incident  brought  the  grow- 
ing friction  between  the  two  men  for  a  flash  into 
the  open.  Roosevelt  had  agreed  to  sell  the  Marouis 
eighty  or  a  hundred  head  of  cattle  at  a  price,  on 
which  they  agreed,  of  about  six  cents  a  pound. 
Accompanied  by  two  of  his  cowpunchers,  he  drove 
the  cattle  to  the  enclosure  adjoining  the  abattoir 


340       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

of  the  Northern  Pacific  Refrigerator  Car  Company, 
had  them  weighed,  and  went  to  the  Marquis  for 
his  check, 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  pay  you  as  much  as  I 
agreed  for  those  cattle,"  said  the  Marquis. 

"  But  you  bought  the  cattle,"  Roosevelt  pro- 
tested.   "  The  sale  was  complete  with  the  delivery." 

"  The  Chicago  price  is  down  a  half  cent,"  an- 
swered the  Marquis  regretfully.  "  I  will  pay  you 
a  half  cent  less  than  we  agreed." 

The  air  was  electric.  Packard  told  about  it  long 
afterwards.  "  It  was  a  ticklish  situation,"  he  said. 
"  We  all  knew  the  price  had  been  agreed  on  the  day 
before;  the  sale  being  completed  with  the  deliv- 
ery of  the  cattle.  Fluctuations  in  the  market  cut  no 
figure.  Roosevelt  would  have  made  delivery  at  the 
agreed  price  even  if  the  Chicago  price  had  gone  up." 

Roosevelt  turned  to  the  Marquis.  "  Did  you 
agree  to  pay  six  cents  for  these  cattle?  " 

"  Yes,"  the  Marquis  admitted.  "  But  the  Chi- 
cago price  —  " 

"  Are  you  going  to  pay  six  cents  for  them?  " 
Roosevelt  broke  in. 

"  No;  I  will  pay  five  and  a  half  cents." 

Roosevelt  turned  abruptly  to  his  cowpunchers. 
"  Drive  'em  out,  boys,"  he  said.  The  men  drove  out 
the  cattle. 

"  There  was  no  particular  ill-feeling  between 
them,"  Packard  said  later,  "  and  Roosevelt  gave 
the  Marquis  credit  for  an  honest  belief  that  a 
variation  in  the  Chicago  price  would  cut  a  figure  in 


THE  FIRST  CLASH  341 

their  agreed  price.  It  was  that  very  fact,  however, 
which  made  impossible  any  further  business  rela- 
tions between  them." 

The  Pioneer  Press  of  St.  Paul,  in  its  issue  of  August 
23d,  1885,  tells  its  own  version  of  the  story. 

About  a  year  ago  the  Marquis  made  a  verbal  contract 
with  Theodore  Roosevelt,  the  New  York  politician,  who 
owns  an  immense  cattle  ranch  near  Medora,  agreeing  to 
purchase  a  number  of  head  of  cattle.  Roosevelt  had  his 
stock  driven  down  to  the  point  agreed  upon,  when  the 
Marquis  declined  to  receive  them,  and  declared  that  he 
had  made  no  such  contract.  Roosevelt  stormed  a  little, 
but  finally  subsided  and  gave  orders  to  his  men  not 
to  sell  any  cattle  to  the  Marquis  or  transact  any  busi- 
ness with  him.  The  relations  between  the  Marquis  and 
Roosevelt  have  since  been  somewhat  strained. 

A  reporter  of  the  Bismarck  Tribune,  a  few  days 
after  this  story  appeared,  caught  Roosevelt  as  he 
was  passing  through  the  city  on  his  return  from  a 
flying  visit  to  the  East,  and  evidently  asked  him 
what  truth  there  was  in  it.  His  deprecation  of  the 
story  is  not  altogether  conclusive. 

Theodore  Roosevelt,  the  young  reformer  of  New  York, 
passed  through  this  city  yesterday  [he  writes],  en  route 
to  his  ranch  in  the  Bad  Lands.  He  was  as  bright  and 
talkative  as  ever,  and  spoke  of  the  great  opportunities 
of  the  imperial  Northwest  with  more  enthusiasm  than 
has  ever  been  exhibited  by  the  most  sanguine  old-timer. 
Mr.  Roosevelt  recently  had  a  slight  tilt  with  the  Marquis 
de  Mores  on  a  cattle  deal,  and  the  story  has  been  ex- 
aggerated until  readers  of  Eastern  papers  are  led  to  be- 
lieve that  these  two  cattle  kings  never  speak  as  they  pass 


342       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

by  and  are  looking  for  each  other  with  clubs.  This  is 
not  true. 

Meanwhile,  during  those  summer  months  of 
1885  the  hot  water  into  which  the  Frenchman  had 
flung  himself  when  he  assisted  in  the  killing  of 
Riley  Luffsey  began  to  simmer  once  more.  It  came 
to  a  boil  on  August  26th,  when  a  grand  jury  in 
Mandan  indicted  the  Marquis  de  Mores  for  murder 
in  the  first  degree. 

The  Marquis  had  not  been  unaware  how  matters 
were  shaping  themselves.  When  the  movement  to 
have  him  indicted  first  got  under  way,  in  fact,  it 
was  intimated  to  him  that  a  little  matter  of  fif- 
teen hundred  dollars  judiciously  distributed  would 
cause  the  indictment  to  be  withdrawn.  He  inquired 
whether  the  indictment  would  stay  unthdrawn  or 
whether  he  would  be  subject  to  indictment  and,  in 
consequence,  to  blackmail,  during  the  rest  of  his 
life.  He  was  told  that  since  he  had  never  been 
acquitted  by  a  jury,  he  might  be  indicted  at  any 
moment,  the  next  day,  or  ten  years  hence.  He 
declared  that  he  preferred  to  clean  up  the  matter 
then  and  there. 

"  I  have  plenty  of  money  for  defense,"  he  said 
to  a  reporter  of  the  New  York  Times,  adapting, 
not  without  humor,  a  famous  American  war-cry  to 
his  own  situation,  "  but  not  a  dollar  for  blackmail." 

Knowing  the  ways  of  courts,  he  removed  himself 
from  the  Territory  while  the  forces  were  being 
gathered  against  him  at  Mandan. 

"  I  determined  that  I  would  not  be  put  in  jail," 


INDICTMENT  OF  THE  MARQUIS       343 

he  explained  to  the  Times  interviewer,  "  to  lie  there 
perhaps  for  months  waiting  for  a  trial.  Besides,  a 
jail  is  not  a  safe  place  in  that  part  of  the  country. 
Now  the  court  seems  to  be  ready  and  so  will  I  be 
in  a  few  days.    I  do  not  fear  the  result." 

He  was  convinced  that  the  same  forces  which  had 
thwarted  him  in  his  business  enterprises  were  using 
the  Luffsey  episode  to  push  him  out  of  the  way. 

"  I  think  the  charge  has  been  kept  hanging  over 
me,"  he  said,  "  for  the  purpose  of  breaking  up  my 
business.  It  was  known  that  I  intended  to  kill  and 
ship  beef  to  Chicago  and  other  Eastern  cities,  and 
had  expended  much  money  in  preparations.  If  I 
could  have  been  arrested  and  put  in  jail  some  months 
ago,  it  might  have  injured  my  business  and  perhaps 
have  put  an  end  to  my  career." 

The  Marquis  was  convinced  that  it  was  Roosevelt 
who  was  financing  the  opposition  to  him  and  spoke 
of  him  with  intense  bitterness. 

The  indictment  of  the  Marquis,  meanw^hile,  was 
mightily  agitating  the  w^estern  part  of  the  Territory. 
Sentiment  in  the  matter  had  somewhat  veered 
since  the  first  trials  which  had  been  held  two  years 
before.  The  soberer  of  the  citizens,  recognizing  the 
real  impetus  which  the  Marquis's  energy  and  wealth 
had  given  to  the  commercial  activity  of  the  West 
Missouri  region,  were  inclined  to  s^^mpathize  with 
him.  There  was  a  widespread  belief  that  in  the 
matter  of  the  indictment  the  Marquis  had  fallen 
among  thieves. 

The  Marquis  returned  from  the  East  about  the 


344       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

last  day  of  August,  and  gave  himself  up  to  the  sheriff 
at  Mandan.  He  was  promptly  lodged  in  jail.  The 
remark  he  had  made  to  the  interviewer  in  New 
York,  that  a  jail  was  not  a  safe  place  in  Dakota, 
proved  prophetic.  A  mob,  composed  of  cowboys 
and  lumberjacks,  bombarded  the  jail  in  which  the 
Marquis  was  confined.  At  the  close  of  the  bombard- 
ment, Roosevelt,  who  happened  to  be  in  Mandan, 
on  his  way  to  the  East,  called  on  the  Marquis. 

In  the  Marquis's  cell  he  found  the  Frenchman 
with  his  faithful  valet  and  secretary.  The  secretary 
was  under  the  bed,  but  the  Marquis  was  sitting  on 
its  edge,  calmly  smoking  a  cigarette. 

As  the  date  for  the  trial  drew  near,  feeling  rose. 
The  idle  and  vociferous  elements  in  the  town  dis- 
covered that  the  Marquis  was  a  plutocrat  and  an 
enemy  of  the  people,  and  called  thirstily  for  his 
blood.  There  was  a  large  Irish  population,  more- 
over, which  remembered  that  the  slain  man  had 
borne  the  name  of  Riley  and  (two  years  after  his 
demise)  hotly  demanded  vengeance.  The  Marquis 
declared  that,  with  popular  sentiment  as  it  was,  he 
could  not  be  given  a  fair  trial,  and  demanded  a 
change  of  venue.  It  was  granted.  The  mob,  robbed 
of  its  prey,  howled  in  disappointment.  A  mass 
meeting  was  held  and  resolutions  were  passed 
calling  for  the  immediate  removal  of  the  iniquitous 
judge  who  had  granted  the  Marquis's  petition. 

The  trial,  which  began  on  September  15th,  was 
more  nerve-racking  for  the  lawyers  than  for  the 
defendant.   For   the   witnesses   were   elusive.   The 


THE  MARQUIS'S  TRIAL  345 

trial  seemed  to  be  regarded  by  the  majority  of  those 
connected  with  it  as  a  gracious  act  of  Providence 
for  the  redistribution  of  some  of  the  Marquis's 
wealth.  Everybody,  it  seemed,  was  thrusting  a 
finger  into  the  Marquis's  purse.  One  of  his  friends 
later  admitted  that  the  Frenchman's  money  had 
been  freely  used,  "  but,  of  course,  only,"  he  blandly 
explained,  "  to  persuade  the  witnesses  to  tell  the 
truth." 

McFay,  a  carpenter,  who  had  distinguished  him- 
self at  the  previous  trial  by  the  melodramatic  qual- 
ity of  his  testimony,  proved  the  peskiest  witness 
of  all.  He  was  spending  his  days  and  his  nights 
during  the  trial  gambling  and  living  high.  When- 
ever his  money  gave  out  he  called  at  the  office  of 
one  of  the  Marquis's  supporters  to  "  borrow  "  fifty 
dollars  to  continue  his  revelry,  and  the  victim  was 
too  much  afraid  of  what  fiction  he  might  tell  the 
jury  to  refuse  him.  It  was  determined  in  solemn 
conclave,  however,  that  McFay  should  be  the  first 
witness  called,  and  disposed  of. 

The  lawyers  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when  the 
time  came  to  put  the  shifty  carpenter  on  the  stand. 
But  just  as  he  was  to  be  called,  McFay  drew  aside 
the  friend  of  the  Marquis  whom  he  had  so  success- 
fully bled. 

"  Come  outside  a  minute,"  he  said. 

The  friend  went. 

"  My  memory  is  getting  damn  poor,"  declared 
the  carpenter. 

"How  much  do  you  want?  " 


346        ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

"  Oh,  five  hundred." 

He  got  it.   The  trial  proceeded. 

One  juror  was,  for  no  reason  which  they  them- 
selves could  adequately  analyze,  withdrawn  by  the 
Marquis's  attorneys  at  the  last  minute.  He  told 
one  of  them  years  after  that,  if  he  had  been  allowed 
to  serve,  he  would  have  "  hung  up  the  jury  until 
some  one  had  passed  him  ten  thousand."  It  was  a 
close  shave. 

Two  items  in  the  testimony  were  notably  sig- 
nificant. One  was  contributed  by  the  Marquis: 
"  O'Donald  and  Luffsey  discharged  all  the  barrels 
of  their  revolvers,"  he  said,  "  and  then  began  to 
shoot  with  their  rifles."  The  other  item  was  con- 
tributed by  Sheriff  Harmon,  who  arrested  O'Donald 
and  "  Dutch  Wannigan "  immediately  after  the 
affray.  He  testified  "  that  the  guns  and  pistols  of 
the  hunters  were  loaded  when  handed  to  him." 

The  jury  made  no  attempt  to  pick  its  way  through 
contradictions  such  as  this,  and  returned  to  the 
court  room  after  an  absence  of  ten  minutes  with  a 
verdict  of  "  not  guilty." 

The  Marquis's  acquittal  did  not,  it  seems,  mollify 
his  bitterness  toward  Roosevelt.  He  prided  himself 
on  his  judgment,  as  he  had  once  informed  Howard 
Eaton,  but  his  judgment  had  a  habit  of  basing  its 
conclusions  on  somewhat  nebulous  premises.  Two 
or  three  bits  of  circumstantial  evidence  had  served 
to  convince  the  Marquis  definitely  that  Roosevelt 
had  been  the  impelling  force  behind  the  prosecution. 
The  fact  that  "  Dutch  Wannigan  "  was  an  employee 


THE  MARQUIS  SEES  RED  347 

of  Roosevelt's,  in  itself,  not  unnaturally,  perhaps, 
stirred  the  Marquis's  ire.  When  he  was  told,  how- 
ever, that  "  Dutch  Wannigan,"  before  departing 
for  the  trial  at  Mandan,  had  received  money  from 
Joe  Ferris,  his  suspicions  appeared  confirmed,  for 
Joe  was  known  to  be  Roosevelt's  close  friend,  and 
it  was  an  open  secret  that  Roosevelt  was  financ- 
ing Joe's  venture  in  storekeeping.  If  his  suspicions 
needed  further  confirmation,  they  seemed  to  get  it 
when  a  little,  black-haired  Irishman,  named  Jimmie 
McShane,  otherwise  known  as  "  Dynamite  Jimmie," 
received  a  sum  of  money  from  Joe  Ferris  and  ap- 
peared at  the  trial  as  the  first  witness  for  the  prosecu- 
tion. On  the  surface  the  case  against  Roosevelt  was 
convincing,  and  the  Marquis  evidently  did  not  dip 
beneath  it.  If  he  had,  he  would  have  realized  that 
Joe  Ferris  was  the  acknowledged  banker  of  the  Bad 
Lands  to  whom  practically  all  the  thrifty  souls  among 
the  cowpunchers  brought  a  portion  of  their  wages 
for  safe-keeping.  When  "  Dutch  Wannigan  "  and 
"  Dynamite  Jimmie,"  therefore,  received  money  from 
Joe  Ferris,  they  received  only  what  was  their  own, 
and  what  they  needed  for  their  expenses  at  the  trial. 
But  the  Marquis,  whose  mind  liked  to  jump 
goat-like  from  crag  to  crag,  did  not  stop  to  examine 
the  evidence  against  Roosevelt.  He  accepted  it  at 
its  face  value,  and  wrote  Roosevelt  a  stinging  letter, 
telling  him  that  he  had  heard  that  Roosevelt  had 
influenced  witnesses  against  him  in  the  murder 
trial.  He  had  supposed,  he  said,  that  there  was 
nothing  but  friendly  feeling  between  himself  and 


348       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Roosevelt,  but  since  it  was  otherwise  there  was 
always  "  a  way  of  settling  differences  between 
gentlemen." 

Roosevelt,  who  had  returned  from  the  East 
early  in  October,  received  the  letter  at  Elkhorn 
Ranch  and  read  it  aloud  to  Bill  Sewall.  "  That's 
a  threat,"  he  exclaimed.  *'  He  is  trying  to  bully 
me.  He  can't  bully  me.  I  am  going  to  write  him  a 
letter  myself.  Bill,"  he  went  on,  "  I  don't  want  to 
disgrace  my  family  by  fighting  a  duel.  I  don't 
believe  in  fighting  duels.  My  friends  don't  any  of 
them  believe  in  it.  They  would  be  very  much  op- 
posed to  anything  of  the  kind,  but  I  won't  be  bullied 
by  a  Frenchman.  Now,  as  I  am  the  challenged 
party,  I  have  the  privilege  of  naming  the  weapons. 
I  am  no  swordsman,  and  pistols  are  too  uncertain 
and  Frenchy  for  me.  So  what  do  you  say  if  I  make 
it  rifles?  " 

Roosevelt  sat  down  on  a  log  and  then  and  there 
drafted  his  reply.  He  had  no  unfriendly  feeling  for 
the  Marquis,  he  wrote,  "  but,  as  the  closing  sentence 
of  your  letter  implies  a  threat,  I  feel  it  my  duty  to 
say  that  I  am  ready  at  all  times  and  at  all  places 
to  answer  for  my  actions." 

Then  he  added  that  if  the  Marquis's  letter  was 
meant  as  a  challenge,  and  he  insisted  upon  having 
satisfaction,  he  would  meet  him  with  rifles  at  twelve 
paces,  the  adversaries  to  shoot  and  advance  until 
one  or  the  other  dropped. 

"  Now,"  said  Roosevelt,  "  I  expect  he'll  challenge 
me.   If  he  does,  I  want  you  for  my  second." 


PEACE  349 

Sewall  grunted.  "  You  will  never  have  to  fight 
any  duel  of  that  kind  with  that  man,"  he  said. 
"  He  won't  challenge  you.  He  will  find  some  way 
out  of  it." 

Roosevelt  was  not  at  all  sure  of  this.  The  Mar- 
quis was  a  bully,  but  he  was  no  coward. 

A  day  or  so  later  the  answer  came  by  special 
messenger.  Roosevelt  brought  it  over  to  Sewall. 
"  You  were  right.  Bill,  about  the  Marquis,"  he  said. 

Sewall  read  the  Marquis's  letter.  The  Marquis 
declared  that  Roosevelt  had  completely  misunder- 
stood the  meaning  of  his  message.  The  idea  that 
he  had  meant  to  convey  was  that  there  was  always 
a  way  of  settling  affairs  of  that  sort  between  gentle- 
men —  without  trouble.  And  would  not  Mr.  Roose- 
velt do  him  the  honor  of  dining  with  him,  and  so 
forth  and  so  on? 

"  The  Marquis,"  as  Roosevelt  remarked  long 
afterward,  "  had  a  streak  of  intelligent  acceptance 
of  facts,  and  as  long  as  he  did  not  publicly  lose  caste 
or  incur  ridicule  by  backing  down,  he  did  not  intend 
to  run  risk  without  adequate  object.  He  did  not 
expect  his  bluff  to  be  called;  and  when  it  was,  he 
had  to  make  up  his  mind  to  withdraw  it." 

There  was  no  more  trouble  after  that  between 
Theodore  Roosevelt  and  the  Marquis  de  Mores. 


XXI 

I'd  rather  hear  a  rattler  rattle, 

I'd  rather  buck  stampeding  cattle, 

I'd  rather  go  to  a  greaser  battle, 

Than  — 

Than  to  — 

Than  to  fight  — 

Than  to  fight  the  bloody  In-ji-ans. 

I'd  rather  eat  a  pan  of  dope, 
,  I'd  rather  ride  without  a  rope, 
I'd  rather  from  this  country  lope, 
Than  — 
Than  to  — 
Than  to  fight  — 
Than  to  fight  the  bloody  In-ji-ans. 

Cowboy  song 

All  through  that  autumn  of  1885,  Roosevelt  re- 
mained in  the  Bad  Lands.  With  his  whole  being  he 
reveled  in  the  wild  and  care-free  life ;  but  the  news- 
papers did  not  seem  to  be  able  to  rise  above  the 
notion  that  he  was  in  Dakota  for  political  purposes: 

Mr.  Theodore  Roosevelt,  it  is  rumored  [remarked  the 
Chicago  Tribune]  has  an  eye  on  politics  in  Dakota,  and 
is  making  himself  popular  with  the  natives.  He  is  bright, 
certainly,  but  Mr.  Roosevelt  will  find  the  methods  in 
Dakota  quite  different  from  those  which  gave  him  sud- 
den prominence  in  New  York.  There  is  a  great  deal 
of  breeziness  in  a  Dakota  convention,  but  it  is  not  the 
breeziness  of  innocence.  It  is  high  art.  The  number  of 
gentlemen  who  are  in  training  for  United  States  senator- 
ships,  when  Dakota  shall  have  acquired  admission,  is 
not  limited,  and  each  and  every  aspirant  can  pull  a 
wire  with  a  silent  grace  which   is  fascinating.    If  Mr. 


RED  MAN  AND  WHITE  351 

Roosevelt  really  likes  politics,  he  will  enjoy  himself  in 
Dakota. 

If  Roosevelt  had  any  notion  of  entering  the  race 
for  the  senatorship  in  Dakota,  he  has  left  no  record 
of  it.  Howard  Eaton  spoke  to  him  once  about  it. 
He  was  interested  and  even  a  little  stirred,  it  ap- 
peared, at  the  possibility  of  representing  the  fron- 
tier in  the  United  States  Senate  as,  half  a  century 
previous,  Thomas  H.  Benton,  of  Tennessee,  whom 
he  greatly  admired,  had  represented  it.  But  the 
thought  failed  to  take  permanent  hold  of  him.  He 
w^as,  moreover,  thinking  of  himself  in  those  days 
more  as  a  writer  than  as  a  politician. 

The  autumn  was  not  wdthout  excitement.  A 
small  band  of  Indians  began  here  and  there  to  set 
fire  to  the  prairie  grass,  and  before  the  cattlemen 
realized  what  was  happening,  thousands  of  acres  of 
winter  feed  lay  blackened  and  desolate. 

This  act  of  ruthless  destruction  was  the  climax 
of  a  war  of  reprisals  which  had  been  carried  on 
relentlessly  between  the  Indians  and  the  white  men 
since  the  first  bold  pioneer  had  entered  the  West 
Missouri  country.  There  was  endless  trouble  and 
bad  blood  between  the  races,  which  at  intervals 
flared  up  in  an  outrage,  the  details  of  which  were 
never  told  in  print  because  they  w^ere  as  a  rule  un- 
printable. In  the  region  between  the  Little  Missouri 
and  the  Yellowstone,  in  the  years  1884  and  1885, 
the  wounds  left  by  the  wars,  which  had  culminated 
in  the  death  of  Custer  at  the  Little  Big  Horn,  were 
still  open  and  sore.    In  the  conflict  between  white 


352       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

and  red,  the  Indians  were  not  always  the  ones  who 
were  most  at  fault.  In  many  cases  the  robberies 
and  other  crimes  which  were  committed  were  the 
acts  of  men  maddened  by  starvation,  for  the  ranges 
where  they  had  hunted  had  been  taken  from  them, 
and  the  reservations  in  many  cases  offered  insuffi- 
cient food.  The  agents  of  the  Great  White  Father, 
moreover,  were  not  always  over-careful  to  give 
them  all  the  cattle  and  the  ponies  which  the  Gov- 
ernment was  by  treaty  supposed  to  grant  them. 
In  consequence  they  "  lifted  "  a  cow  or  a  calf 
where  they  could.  The  cattlemen,  on  their  part, 
thoroughly  imbued  with  the  doctrine  of  might  is 
right,  regarded  the  Indians  as  a  public  enemy,  and 
were  disposed  to  treat  their  ponies  and  any  other 
property  which  they  might  possess  as  legitimate 
prize  of  war.  There  was,  in  fact,  during  the  middle 
eighties,  open  and  undisguised  warfare  between 
red  and  white  throughout  the  region  whose  eastern 
border  was  the  Bad  Lands.  It  was,  moreover,  a 
peculiarly  atrocious  warfare.  Many  white  men  shot 
whatever  Indians  they  came  upon  like  coyotes,  on 
sight;  others  captured  them,  when  they  could,  and, 
stripping  off  their  clothes,  whipped  them  till  they 
bled.  The  Indians  retaliated  horribly,  delivering 
their  white  captives  to  their  squaws,  who  tortured 
them  in  every  conceivable  fashion,  driving  slivers 
up  under  their  nails,  burning  them  alive,  and  feeding 
them  with  flesh  cut  from  their  own  bodies.  Along 
the  banks  of  the  Little  Missouri  there  were  no  out- 
rages, for  the  Indians  had  been  driven  out  of  the 


ROOSEVELT'S  ADVENTURE  353 

country  at  the  end  of  the  seventies,  and,  save  for 
occasional  raids  in  the  early  eighties,  had  made  little 
trouble;  but  at  the  edge  of  the  Bad  Lands  there 
was  a  skirmish  now  and  then,  and  in  the  winter  of 
1884  Schuyler  Lebo,  son  of  that  odd  Ulysses  who 
had  guided  Roosevelt  to  the  Big  Horn  Mountains, 
was  shot  in  the  leg  by  an  Indian  while  he  was 
hunting  on  Bullion  Butte. 

Roosevelt  had  a  little  adventure  of  his  own  with 
Indians  that  summer.  He  was  traveling  along  the 
edge  of  the  prairie  on  a  solitary  journey  to  the  un- 
explored country  north  and  east  of  the  range  on 
which  his  cattle  grazed,  and  was  crossing  a  narrow 
plateau  when  he  suddenly  saw  a  group  of  four  or 
five  Indians  come  up  over  the  edge  directly  in  front. 
As  they  saw  him,  they  whipped  their  guns  out  of 
their  slings,  started  their  horses  into  a  run,  and 
came  toward  him  at  full  speed. 

He  reined  up  instantly  and  dismounted. 

The  Indians  came  on,  whooping  and  brandishing 
their  weapons. 

Roosevelt  laid  his  gun  across  the  saddle  and 
waited. 

It  was  possible  [Roosevelt  wrote  subsequently]  that 
the  Indians  were  merely  making  a  bluff  and  intended 
no  mischief.  But  I  did  not  like  their  actions,  and  I 
thought  it  likely  that  if  I  allowed  them  to  get  hold  of 
me  they  would  at  least  take  my  horse  and  rifle,  and  pos- 
sibly kill  me.  So  I  waited  until  they  were  a  hundred 
yards  off  and  then  drew  a  bead  on  the  first.  Indians  — 
and,  for  the  matter  of  that,  white  men  —  do  not  like 
to  ride  in  on  a  man  who  is  cool  and  means  shooting,  and 


354       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

in  a  twinkling  every  man  was  lying  over  the  side  of  his 
horse,  and  all  five  had  turned  and  were  galloping  back- 
wards, having  altered  their  course  as  quickly  as  so  many 
teal  ducks. 

At  some  distance  the  Indians  halted  and  gathered 
evidently  for  a  conference. 

Thereupon  one  man  came  forward  alone,  making 
the  peace  sign  first  with  his  blanket  and  then  with 
his  open  hand.  Roosevelt  let  him  come  to  within 
fifty  yards.  The  Indian  was  waving  a  piece  of 
soiled  paper,  his  reserv^ation  pass, 

"  How!    Me  good  Injun,"  he  called. 

"  How!  "  Roosevelt  answered.  "I'm  glad  you 
are.    But  don't  come  any  closer." 

The  Indian  asked  for  sugar  and  tobacco.  Roose- 
velt told  him  that  he  had  none.  Another  Indian 
now  began  almost  imperceptibly  to  approach. 
Roosevelt  called  to  him  to  keep  back,  but  the 
Indian  paid  no  attention. 

Roosevelt  whipped  up  his  gun  once  more,  covering 
the  spokesman.  That  individual  burst  into  a  volume 
of  perfect  Anglo-Saxon  profanity;  but  he  retired, 
which  was  what  he  was  supposed  to  do.  Roosevelt 
led  the  faithful  Manitou  off  toward  the  plains. 
The  Indians  followed  him  at  a  distance  for  two  miles 
or  more,  but  as  he  reached  the  open  country  at  last 
they  vanished  in  the  radiant  dust  of  the  prairie. 

Indians  were  a  familiar  sight  in  Medora  and 
about  the  ranch-houses  up  and  down  the  Little 
Missouri.  In  groups  of  a  half-dozen  or  over  they 
were  formidable,  but  singly  they  were  harmless  and 


GOOD  INDIAN,  DEAD  INDIAN  355 

rather  pathetic  creatures.  Roosevelt's  attitude  to- 
ward the  Indians  as  a  race  was  unequivocal.  He 
detested  them  for  their  cruelty,  and  even  more  for 
their  emphasis  on  cruelty  as  a  virtue  to  be  carefully 
developed  as  a  white  man  might  develop  a  sense  of 
chivalry-;  but  he  recognized  the  fact  that  they  had 
rights  as  human  beings  and  as  members  of  tribes 
having  treaty  relations  with  the  United  States,  and 
insisted  in  season  and  out  of  season  that  those 
rights  be  respected. 

I  suppose  I  should  be  ashamed  to  say  that  I  take  the 
Western  view  of  the  Indian  [he  said  in  the  course  of  a 
lecture  which  he  delivered  in  New  York,  during  January, 
1886].  I  don't  go  so  far  as  to  think  that  the  only  good 
Indians  are  the  dead  Indians,  but  I  believe  nine  out  of 
every  ten  are,  and  I  shouldn't  like  to  inquire  too  closely 
into  the  case  of  the  tenth.  The  most  vicious  cowboy  has 
more  moral  principle  than  the  average  Indian.  Turn 
three  hundred  low  families  of  New  York  into  New 
Jersey,  support  them  for  fifty  years  in  vicious  idleness, 
and  you  will  have  some  idea  of  what  the  Indians  are. 
Reckless,  revengeful,  fiendishly  cruel,  they  rob  and  mur- 
der, not  the  cowboys,  who  can  take  care  of  themselves, 
but  the  defenseless,  lone  settlers  on  the  plains.  As  for 
the  soldiers,  an  Indian  chief  once  asked  Sheridan  for  a 
cannon.  "What!  Do  you  want  to  kill  my  soldiers 
with  it?  "  asked  the  general.  "  No,"  replied  the  chief, 
"  want  to  kill  the  cowboy;  kill  soldier  with  a  club." 

It  was  characteristic  of  Roosevelt  that,  in  spite 
of  his  detestation  of  the  race,  he  should  have  been 
meticulously  fair  to  the  individual  members  of  it 
who  happened  to  cross  his  path.  He  made  It  a 
point,  both  at  the  Maltese  Cross  and  at  Elkhorn, 


356       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

that  the  Indians  who  drifted  in  and  out  at  intervals 
should  be  treated  as  fairly  as  the  whites,  neither 
wronging  them  himself  nor  allowing  others  to 
wrong  them. 

Mrs.  Maddox,  the  maker  of  the  famous  buckskin 
shirt,  who  was  an  extraordinary  woman  in  more 
ways  than  one,  had  her  own  very  individual  notions 
concerning  the  rights  of  the  Indians.  When  Roose- 
velt stopped  at  her  shack  one  day,  he  found  three 
Sioux  Indians  there,  evidently  trustworthy,  self- 
respecting  men.  Mrs.  Maddox  explained  to  him 
that  they  had  been  resting  there  waiting  for  dinner, 
when  a  white  man  had  come  along  and  tried  to 
run  off  with  their  horses.  The  Indians  had  caught 
the  man,  but,  after  retaking  their  horses  and  de- 
priving him  of  his  gun,  had  let  him  go. 

"  I  don't  see  why  they  let  him  go,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  I  don't  believe  in  stealing  Indians'  horses  anymore 
than  white  folks',  so  I  told  'em  they  could  go  along 
and  hang  him,  I'd  never  cheep!  Anyhow  I  won't 
charge  them  anything  for  their  dinner,"  she  con- 
cluded. 

The  psychology  of  the  Indians  was  curious,  and 
it  took  time  occasionally  for  their  better  qualities 
to  reveal  themselves.  As  chairman  of  the  Little 
Missouri  Stock  Association,  Roosevelt  on  one  occa- 
sion recovered  two  horses  which  had  been  stolen 
from  an  old  Indian.  The  Indian  took  them,  mutter- 
ing something  that  sounded  like  "  Um,  um,"  and 
without  a  word  or  a  gesture  of  gratitude  rode  away 
with  his  property.    Roosevelt  felt  cheap,  as  though 


PRAIRIE  FIRES  357 

he  had  done  a  service  which  had  not  been  appreci- 
ated; but  a  few  days  later  the  old  Indian  came  to 
him  and  silently  laid  in  his  arms  a  hide  bearing  an 
elaborate  painting  of  the  battle  of  the  Little  Big 
Horn. 

The  depredations  of  the  Indians  in  the  autumn  of 
1885  made  concerted  action  on  the  part  of  the  cattle- 
men inevitable.  The  damage  which  the  fires  did  to 
the  cattle  ranges  themselves  was  not  extensive,  for 
the  devastation  w^s  confined  in  the  main  to  a  strip 
of  country  about  eighteen  miles  on  either  side  of 
the  railroad's  right  of  way,  and  the  ranches  were 
situated  from  twenty-five  to  eighty  miles  from  the 
track.  The  real  harm  which  the  fires  did  was  in 
the  destruction  of  the  "  drives  "  to  the  railroad. 
Driving  cattle  tended,  under  the  best  conditions  of 
water  and  pasture,  to  cause  loss  of  weight;  when 
the  "  drive  "  lay  through  a  burnt  district  for  twenty 
or  twenty-five  miles  the  deterioration  of  the  cattle 
became  a  serious  matter. 

Day  after  day  the  cowboys  fought  the  fires.  It 
was  peculiarly  harassing  work. 

The  process  we  usually  followed  [Roosevelt  wrote  in 
his  Autobiography]  was  to  kill  a  steer,  split  it  in  two 
lengthwise,  and  then  have  two  riders  drag  each  half- 
steer,  the  rope  of  one  running  from  his  saddle-horn  to 
the  front  leg,  and  that  of  the  other  to  the  hind  leg.  One 
of  the  men  would  spur  his  horse  over  or  through  the 
line  of  fire,  and  the  two  would  then  ride  forward,  drag- 
ging the  steer,  bloody  side  downward,  along  the  line  of 
flame,  men  following  on  foot  with  slickers  or  wet  horse- 
blankets  to  beat  out  any  flickering  blaze  that  was  still 


358       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

left.  It  was  exciting  work,  for  the  fire  and  the  twitching 
and  plucking  of  the  ox  carcass  over  the  uneven  ground 
maddened  the  fierce  little  horses  so  that  It  was  necessary 
to  do  some  riding  in  order  to  keep  them  to  their  work. 
After  a  while  It  also  became  very  exhausting,  the  thirst 
and  fatigue  being  great,  as,  with  parched  lips  and  black- 
ened from  head  to  foot,  we  toiled  at  our  task. 

Work  of  this  sort,  day  In,  day  out,  did  not  make 
for  magnanimity  on  the  part  of  the  cowboys.  It 
was  found  that  seventy-five  Indians,  who  had  re- 
ceived hunting  permits  from  the  agent  at  Berth'old, 
were  responsible  for  the  devastation,  and  even  the 
Eastern  newspapers  began  to  carry  reports  about  a 
"  serious  conflict  "  which  was  likely  to  break  out 
any  minute  "  between  cattlemen  and  Indian  hun- 
ters In  the  Bad  Lands  of  the  Little  Missouri." 

Some  one  evidently  called  a  meeting  of  the  Little 
Missouri  River  Stockmen's  Association  to  consider 
the  situation,  which  was  becoming  dangerous,  for 
on  November  4th  the  New  York  Herald  reported 
that 

the  Cattle  Association  on  Thursday  next  will  send  in 
a  party  of  thirty-five  cowboys  to  order  the  Indians  off 
the  Bad  Lands  and  to  see  that  they  go.  The  Indians, 
being  well  armed  and  having  permits  [the  report  con- 
cluded] are  expected  to  resist  unless  they  are  surprised 
when  separated  In  small  parties. 

Whether  or  not  the  party  was  ever  sent  is  dark; 
but  there  was  no  further  trouble  with  the  Indians 
that  year. 

Roosevelt   did  not  attend   the   meeting  of   the 


SEWALL  DELIVERS  A  LECTURE        359 

Association  he  himself  had  estabhshed.  Sometime 
after  the  middle  of  October,  he  had  returned  to  the 
East.  On  October  24th  he  rode  with  the  Meadow- 
brook  Hunt  Club  and  broke  his  arm,  riding  in  at 
the  death  in  spite  of  a  dangling  sleeve.  A  week  or 
two  later  he  was  again  in  the  Bad  Lands. 

He  was  a  sorry  sight  as  he  arrived  at  Elkhorn 
Ranch,  for  his  broken  arm  had  not  been  the  only 
injury  he  had  incurred.  His  face  was  scarred  and 
battered. 

Bill  Sewall  regarded  him  with  frank  disapproval. 
"You're  too  valuable  a  man  to  use  yourself  up  chas- 
ing foxes,"  he  remarked.  "There's  some  men  that 
can  afford  to  do  it.  There's  some  men  that  it  don't 
make  much  difference  if  they  do  break  their  necks. 
But  you  don't  belong  to  that  class." 

Roosevelt  took  the  lecture  without  protest,  giv- 
ing his  mentor  the  impression  that  it  had  sunk  in. 

Roosevelt  remained  in  the  Bad  Lands  until  after 
Christmas,  shooting  his  Christmas  dinner  in  company 
with  Sylvane.  Before  the  middle  of  January  he  was 
back  in  New  York,  writing  articles  for  Outing  and  the 
Century,  doing  some  work  as  a  publisher  in  partner- 
ship with  a  friend  of  his  boyhood,  George  Haven 
Putnam,  delivering  an  occasional  lecture,  and  now 
and  then  making  a  political  speech.  Altogether, 
life  was  not  dull  for  him. 

Meanwhile,  winter  closed  once  more  over  the 
Bad  Lands.  The  Marquis  went  to  France,  followed 
by  rumors  disquieting  to  those  who  had  high  hopes 


36o       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

for  the  future  of  what  the  Marquis  Hked  to  call 
"  my  little  town."  J.  B.  Walker,  who  "  operated 
the  Elk  Hotel,"  as  the  phrase  went,  "  skipped  out," 
leaving  behind  him  a  thousand  dollars'  worth  of 
debts  and  a  stock  of  strong  drink.  Nobody  claimed 
the  debts,  but  Hell-Roaring  Bill  Jones  took  pos- 
session of  the  deserted  cellar  and  sold  drinks  to  his 
own  great  financial  benefit,  until  it  occurred  to  some 
unduly  inquisitive  person  to  inquire  into  his  rights; 
which  spoiled  everything. 

The  event  of  real  importance  was  the  arrival  of 
a  new  bride  in  Medora.  For  early  in  January,  1886, 
Joe  Ferris  went  East  to  New  Brunswick;  and  when 
he  came  back  a  month  later  he  brought  a  wife  with 
him. 

It  was  a  notable  event.  The  "  boys  "  had  planned 
to  give  Joe  and  his  lady  a  "  shivaree,"  such  as  even 
Medora  had  never  encountered  before,  but  Joe,  who 
was  crafty  and  knew  his  neighbors,  succeeded  in 
misleading  the  population  of  the  town  concerning 
the  exact  hour  of  his  arrival  with  his  somewhat 
apprehensive  bride.  There  was  a  wild  scurrying 
after  tin  pans  and  bells  and  other  objects  which 
were  effective  as  producers  of  bedlam,  but  Joe 
sent  a  friend  forth  with  a  bill  of  high  denomination 
and  the  suggestion  that  the  "  boys  "  break  it  at 
Bill  Williams's  saloon,  which  had  the  desired  effect. 

The  "boys"  took  the  greatest  interest  in  the 
wife  whom  Joe  (who  was  popular  in  town)  had  taken 
to  himself  out  in  New  Brunswick,  and  there  was 
real  trepidation  lest  Joe's  wife  might  be  the  wrong 


JOSEPH  A.  FERRIS 


JOE  FERRIS'S  STORE 


THE  TESTING  OF  MRS.  JOE  361 

sort.  Other  men,  who  had  been  good  fellows  and 
had  run  with  the  boys,  had  married  and  been 
weaned  from  their  old  companions,  bringing  out 
wbmen  who  did  not  "  fit  in,"  who  felt  superior  to 
the  cowboys  and  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  'hide 
their  feelings.  The  great  test  was,  whether  Joe's 
wife  would  or  would  not  like  Mrs.  Cummins.  For 
Mrs.  Cummins,  in  the  minds  of  the  cowpunchers, 
stood  for  ever}thing  that  was  reprehensible  in  the 
way  of  snobbery  and  lack  of  the  human  touch.  If 
Mrs.  Ferris  liked  Mrs.  Cummins,  it  was  all  over; 
if  she  properly  disliked  her,  she  would  do. 

Mrs.  Cummins  called  in  due  course.  Merrifield 
was  on  the  porch  of  the  store  when  she  came  and 
in  his  excited  way  carried  the  news  to  the  boys. 
As  soon  as  she  left  by  the  front  steps,  Merrifield 
bounded  up  by  the  back.    His  eyes  were  gleaming. 

"  Well,  now,  Mrs.  Ferris,"  he  cried,  "  how  did 
you  like  her?  " 

Mrs.  Ferris  laughed. 

"  Well,  what  did  she  say?  "  Merrifield  pursued 
impatiently. 

"  Why,"  rem.arked  Mrs.  Joe,  "  for  one  thing  she 
says  I  mustn't  trust  any  of  you  cowboys." 

Merrifield  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh.  "  That's 
her!  "  he  cried.  "  That's  her!  What  else  did  she 
say?  " 

"  She  told  me  how  I  ought  to  ride,  and  the  kind 
of  horse  I  ought  to  get,  and  —  " 

"  Go  on,  Mrs.  Ferris,"  cried  Merrifield. 

"  Why,  she  says  I  never  want  to  ride  any  horse 


362       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

that  any  of  you  cowboys  give  me,  for  you're  all 
bad,  and  you  haven't  any  consideration  for  a  woman 
and  you'd  as  lief  see  a  woman  throwed  off  and  killed 
as  not." 

Merrifield's  eyes  sparkled  in  the  attractive  way 
they  had  when  he  was  in  a  hilarious  mood.  "  Say, 
did  you  ever  hear  the  like  of  that?  You'd  think, 
to  hear  that  woman  talk,  that  we  was  nothing  but 
murderers.    What  else  did  she  say?  " 

"  Well,"  remarked  the  new  bride,  "  she  said  a 
good  many  things." 

"  You  tell  me,  Mrs.  Ferris,"  Merrifield  urged. 

"  For  one  thing  she  said  the  cowboys  was  vulgar 
and  didn't  have  any  manners.  And  —  oh,  yes  — 
she  said  that  refined  folks  who  knew  the  better 
things  of  life  ought  to  stick  together  and  not  sink 
to  the  level  of  common  people." 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Ferris,"  remarked  Merrifield  in- 
dignantly, "  ain't  that  a  ree-di-culous  woman? 
Ain't  she  now?  " 

Mrs.  Ferris  laughed  until  the  tears  came  to  her 
eyes.    "  I  think  she  is,"  she  admitted. 

Merrifield  carried  the  news  triumphantly  to  the 
"  boys,"  and  the  new  bride's  standing  was  estab- 
lished. She  became  a  sort  of  "  honorary  member- 
once-removed  "  of  the  friendly  order  of  cow- 
punchers,  associated  with  them  by  a  dozen  ties  of 
human  understanding,  yet,  by  her  sex,  removed  to 
a  special  niche  apart,  where  the  most  irresponsible 
did  not  fail,  drunk  or  sober,  to  do  her  deference. 
For  her  ears  language  was  washed  and  scrubbed. 


MRS.  JOE  TAKES  HOLD  363 

Men  who  appeared  to  have  forgotten  what  shame 
was,  were  ashamed  to  have  Mrs.  Ferris  know  how 
unashamed  they  could  be.  Poor  old  Van  Zander, 
whom  every  one  in  Billings  County  had  seen 
"  stewed  to  the  gills,"  pleaded  with  Joe  not  to  tell 
Mrs.  Ferris  that  Joe  had  seen  him  drunk. 

It  became  a  custom,  in  anticipation  of  a  "  shiv- 
aree,"  to  send  round  word  to  Mrs.  Ferris  not  to  be 
afraid,  the  shooting  was  all  in  fun. 

A  woman  would  have  been  less  than  human  who 
had  failed  to  feel  at  home  in  the  midst  of  such  evi- 
dences of  warmth  and  friendly  consideration.  Joe 
Ferris's  store  became  more  than  ever  the  center  of 
life  in  Medora,  as  the  wife  whom  Joe  had  brought 
from  New  Brunswick  made  his  friends  her  friends 
and  made  her  home  theirs  also. 

She  had  been  in  Medora  less  than  a  month  when 
news  came  from  Roosevelt  that  he  was  getting  ready 
to  start  West  and  would  arrive  on  the  Little  Mis- 
souri sometime  about  the  middle  of  March.  Joe's 
wife  knew  how  to  get  along  with  "  boys  "  who  were 
Joe's  kind,  but  here  was  a  different  sort  of  proposi- 
tion confronting  her.  Here  was  a  wealthy,  and,  in  a 
modest  way,  a  noted,  man  coming  to  sleep  under 
her  roof  and  eat  at  her  table.  The  prospect  appalled 
her.  Possibly  she  had  visions,  for  all  that  Joe  could 
say,  of  a  sort  of  male  Mrs.  Cummins.  "  I  was 
scairt  to  death,"  she  admitted  later. 

Roosevelt  arrived  on  March  i8th.  His  "city 
get-up  "  was  slightly  distracting,  for  it  had  a  per- 
fection of  style  that  Mrs.  Joe  was  not  accustomed 


364       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

to;  but  his  delight  at  his  return  to  the  Bad  Lands 
was  so  frank  and  so  expressive  that  her  anxiety 
began  to  dissolve  in  her  wonder  at  this  vehement 
and  attractive  being  who  treated  her  like  a  queen. 
He  jumped  in  the  air,  clicking  his  heels  together 
like  a  boy  let  unexpectedly  out  of  school,  and  at 
odd  moments  clapped  Joe  on  the  back,  cr^ang, 
"  By  George!  By  George!  "  with  the  relish  of  a 
cannibal  reaching  into  the  pot  for  a  second  joint. 

She  tried  to  treat  him  like  the  city  man  that  he 
looked,  but  he  promptly  put  a  stop  to  that. 

"  Just  use  me  like  one  of  the  boys,  Mrs.  Ferris," 
he  said  decisively. '  His  words  sounded  sincere;  but, 
being  a  shrewd-minded  lady,  she  wondered,  never- 
theless. 

She  did  not  know  him  when  he  came  down  to 
breakfast  next  morning.  Vanished  was  the  "  dude," 
and  in  his  place  stood  a  typical  cowpuncher  in 
shaps  and  flannel  shirt  and  knotted  handkerchief. 
And  his  clothes  revealed  that  they  had  not  been 
worn  only  indoors. 

He  gave  an  exclamation  of  delight  as  he  entered 
the  dining-room.  "  A  white  tablecloth  in  the  Bad 
Lands!  Joe,  did  you  ever  expect  to  see  it?  " 

There  was  no  more  ice  to  break  after  that. 


XXII 

"Listen,  gentle  stranger,  I'll  read  my  pedigree: 
I'm  known  on  handling  tenderfeet  and  worser  men  than  thee; 
The  lions  on  the  mountains,  I've  drove  them  to  their  lairs; 
The  wild-cats  are  my  playmates,  and  I've  wrestled  grizzly  bears; 

"The  centipedes  have  tried  and  failed  to  mar  my  tough  old  hide, 
And  rattlesnakes  have  bit  me,    and  crawled  away  and  died. 
I'm  as  wild  as  the  wild  horse  that  roams  the  boundless  plains, 
The  moss  grows  on  my  teeth  and  wild  blood  flows  through  my  veins. 

"I'm  wild  and  woolly  and  full  of  fleas, 
And  never  been  curried  below  the  knees. 
Now,  little  stranger,  if  you'll  give  me  your  address,  — 
How  would  you  like  to  go,  by  fast  mail  or  express?" 

Buckskin  Joe 

That  spring  of  1886  Roosevelt  had  a  notable  ad- 
venture.   He  arrived  at  Elkhorn  on  March  19th. 

I  got  out  here  all  right  [he  wrote  his  sister  "  Bamie  " 
the  following  day]  and  was  met  at  the  station  by  my  men ; 
I  was  really  heartily  glad  to  see  the  great,  stalwart, 
bearded  fellows  again,  and  they  were  as  honestly  pleased 
to  see  me.  Joe  Ferris  is  married,  and  his  wife  made 
me  most  comfortable  the  night  I  spent  in  town.  Next 
morning  snow  covered  the  ground;  we  pushed  down,  in 
a  rough  four-in-hand  (how  our  rig  would  have  made 
the  estimable  Mrs.  Blank  open  her  eyes!)  to  this  ranch 
which  we  reached  long  after  sunset,  the  full  moon 
flooding  the  landscape  with  light. 

It  was  like  coming  home  from  a  foreign  country 
to  see  the  Little  Missouri  once  more,  and  the 
strangely  fascinating  desolation  of  the  Bad  Lands, 
and  the  home  ranch  and  the  **  folks  "  from  Maine 
and  the  loyal  friends  of  the  Maltese  Cross.    He  had 


366       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

good  friends  in  the  East,  but  there  was  a  warmth 
and  a  stalwart  sincerity  in  the  comradeship  of  these 
men  and  women  which  he  had  scarcely  found 
elsewhere.  Through  the  cold  evenings  of  that  early 
spring  he  loved  to  lie  stretched  at  full  length  on  the 
elk-hides  and  wolf-skins  in  front  of  the  great  fire- 
place, while  the  blazing  logs  crackled  and  roared, 
and  Sewall  and  Dow  and  the  "  womenfolks  "  re- 
counted the  happenings  of  the  season  of  his  absence. 
Spring  came  early  that  year  and  about  the  20th 
of  March  a  great  ice- jam,  which  had  formed  at  a 
bend  far  up  the  river,  came  slowly  past  Elkhorn, 
roaring  and  crunching  and  piling  the  ice  high  on 
both  banks. 

There  has  been  an  ice  gorge  right  in  front  of  the  house 
[he  wrote  "  Bamie  "],  the  swelling  mass  of  broken  frag- 
ments having  been  pushed  almost  up  to  our  doorstep. 
The  current  then  broke  through  the  middle,  leaving  on 
each  side  of  the  stream,  for  some  miles,  a  bank  of  huge 
ice-floes,  tumbled  over  each  other  in  the  wildest  con- 
fusion. No  horse  could  by  any  chance  get  across;  we 
men  have  a  boat,  and  even  thus  it  is  most  laborious 
carrying  it  out  to  the  water;  we  work  like  arctic  ex- 
plorers. 

Early  in  the  spring,  Sewall  and  Dow  had  crossed 
the  river  to  hunt  for  a  few  days  in  the  rough  hills 
to  the  east,  and  had  killed  four  deer  which  they 
had  hung  in  a  tree  to  keep  them  from  the  coyotes. 
Roosevelt  determined  to  go  with  his  men  to  bring 
home  the  deer,  but  when,  after  infinite  difficulty, 
they  reached   the  thicket  of    dwarf   cedars  where 


THE  THEFT  OF  THE  BOAT  367 

the  deer  had  been  hung,  they  found  nothing  save 
scattered  pieces  of  their  carcasses,  and  roundabout 
the  deeply  marked  footprints  of  a  pair  of  cougars, 
or  "  mountain  Hons."  The  beasts  had  evidently 
been  at  work  for  some  time  and  had  eaten  almost 
every  scrap  of  flesh.  Roosevelt  and  his  men  followed 
their  tracks  into  a  tangle  of  rocky  hills,  but,  before 
they  had  come  in  sight  of  the  quarr>%  dusk  obscured 
the  footprints  and  they  returned  home  resolved 
to  renew  the  pursuit  at  dawn.  They  tied  their  boat 
securely  to  a  tree  high  up  on  the  bank. 

The  next  day  Roosevelt  made  arrangements  with 
a  companion  of  many  hunts,  "  old  man  "  Tompkins, 
w^ho  was  living  in  the  shack  which  Captain  Robins 
had  occupied,  to  make  a  determined  pursuit  of 
the  cougars;  but  when,  the  following  morning,  he 
was  ready  to  start  once  more  for  the  farther  shore, 
his  boat  was  gone.  It  was  Bill  Sewall  who  made 
the  discovery.  He  was  not  a  man  easily  excited, 
and  he  took  a  certain  quiet  satisfaction  in  sitting 
down  to  breakfast  and  saying  nothing  while  Roose- 
velt held  forth  concerning  the  fate  which  was  await- 
ing the  mountain  lions. 

"  I  guess  we  won't  go  to-day,"  said  Sewall,  at 
length,  munching  the  last  of  his  breakfast. 

"  Why  not?  "  Roosevelt  demanded. 

Sewall  showed  him  a  red  woolen  mitten  with  a 
leather  palm  which  he  had  picked  up  on  the  ice, 
and  the  end  of  the  rope  by  which  the  boat  had  been 
tied.  It  had  been  cut  with  a  sharp  knife.  "  Some 
one  has  gone  off  with  the  boat,"  he  said. 


368       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Roosevelt  had  no  doubt  who  had  stolen  the  boat, 
for  the  thief  or  thieves  could  scarcely  have  come  by 
land  without  being  detected.  There  was  only  one 
other  boat  on  the  Little  Missouri,  and  that  was  a 
small  flat-bottom  scow  owned  by  three  hard  char- 
acters who  lived  in  a  shack  twenty  miles  above 
Elkhorn.  They  were  considered  suspicious  persons, 
and  Roosevelt  and  his  men  had  shrewdly  surmised 
for  some  time  that  they  were  considering  the  advis- 
ability of  "  skipping  the  country  "  before  the  vigil- 
antes got  after  them.  On  inquiry  they  found  that 
the  shack  which  the  men  had  occupied  was  de- 
serted. 

The  leader  of  the  three  was  a  stocky,  ill-looking 
individual  named  Finnegan,  with  fiery  red  hair 
which  fell  to  his  shoulders,  gaining  for  him  the 
nickname  "  Redhead  "  Finnegan;  a  brick-red  com- 
plexion, and  an  evil  reputation.  He  was  a  surly, 
quarrelsome,  unkempt  creature,  and  when  he  came 
into  a  saloon  with  his  stumbling  gait  (as  he  fre- 
quently did),  self-respecting  cowboys  had  a  way  of 
leavmg  him  in  full  possession  of  the  field,  not  because 
they  feared  him,  but  because  they  did  not  care  to 
be  seen  in  his  presence.  He  boasted  that  he  was 
"  from  Bitter  Creek,  where  the  farther  up  you  went 
the  worse  people  got,"  and  he  lived  "  at  the  fountain 
head."  He  had  blown  into  Medora  early  in  March 
and  had  promptly  gone  to  Bill  Williams's  saloon 
and  filled  up  on  Bill  Williams's  peculiarly  wicked 
brand  of  "  conversation  juice." 

"  Well,  it  laid  him  out  all  right  enough,"  remarked 


REDHEAD  FINNEGAN  369 

Lincoln  Lang,  telling  about  it  in  after  years.  "  I 
can  testify  to  that,  since  I  was  right  there  and  saw 
the  whole  thing.  Johnny  Goodall,  who  was  some 
practical  joker  at  that  time,  went  into  the  bar  and 
saw  Finnegan  lying  on  the  floor.  He  got  some  help 
and  moved  him  to  the  billiard  table.  I'hen  Goodall 
sent  to  the  barber  shop  for  a  hair  clipper,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  operate  in  the  following  manner:  first 
he  clipped  off  one  side  of  Finnegan's  beard  and 
moustache,  and  after  that  removed  his  long  curls 
on  one  side,  being  careful  to  leave  a  stair  pattern 
all  up  the  side  of  his  head.  He  concluded  operations 
by  removing  the  fringes  upon  one  side  of  his  buck- 
skin shirt.  Next  morning  Finnegan  sobered  up  and 
when  he  saw  himself  in  the  looking-glass  he  went 
bersark." 

"  His  heart  got  bad,"  Bill  Dantz  remarked, 
taking  up  the  narrative.  "  He  laid  down  in  a  fringe 
of  brush  near  the  Marquis's  store,  where  he  could 
command  a  clear  view  of  the  town,  and  began  to 
pump  lead  into  everything  in  sight." 

The  first  shot  was  aimed  at  the  office  of  the 
Bad  Lands  Cowboy.  Whether  or  not  "  Redhead  " 
Finnegan  had  it  in  for  the  stern  moralist  who  in- 
sisted that  drunken  criminals  should  be  punished, 
not  only  for  their  crimes,  but  also  for  their  drunken- 
ness, is  a  question  on  which  the  records  are  dark. 
Fisher  was  shaving  in  Packard's  office  and  the  shot 
broke  the  mirror  in  front  of  him.  Packard,  who  was 
on  horseback  on  the  bluff  behind  Medora,  saw  Fisher 
dash  out  of  the  shack,  and  rushed  to  the  scene  of  con- 


370       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

flict.  His  horse  had  knocked  Finnegan  senseless  be- 
fore the  desperado  knew  that  the  Chief  of  Police  was 
on  his  trail.  When  Finnegan  came  to  he  was  in  a 
box-car,  under  lock  and  seal.  But  a  friend  released 
him,  and  the  man  from  Bitter  Creek  made  his  way 
down  the  river  to  his  cabin. 

The  population  of  Medora  had  not  relished 
Finnegan's  bombardment,  and  suggestions  concern- 
ing a  possible  "  necktie  party  "  began  to  make  them- 
selves heard.  Finnegan  evidently  decided  that  the 
time  had  come  for  him,  and  the  men  who  lived  with 
him  in  his  ill-kept  shack,  to  leave  the  country. 
Travel  by  horse  or  foot  was  impossible.  The  boat 
they  owned  was  a  miserable,  leaky  affair.  The 
Elkhorn  skiff  had  evidently  appeared  to  Finnegan 
and  Company  in  the  nature  of  a  godsend. 

Roosevelt's  anger  boiled  up  at  the  theft  of  the 
boat  and  he  ran  to  saddle  Manitou.  But  Sewall 
restrained  him,  pointing  out  that  if  the  country  was 
impassable  for  the  horses  of  the  thieves,  it  was  no 
less  impassable  for  the  horses  of  the  pursuers.  He 
declared  that  he  and  Dow  could  build  a  flat- 
bottomed  boat  in  three  days.  Roosevelt  told  him 
to  go  ahead.  With  the  saddle  band  —  his  forty  or 
fifty  cow-ponies  —  on  the  farther  side  of  the  river, 
he  could  not  afford  to  lose  the  boat.  But  the 
determining  motive  in  his  mind  was  neither  chagrin 
nor  anxiety  to  recover  his  property.  In  a  country 
where  self-reliant  hardihood  and  the  ability  to  hold 
one's  own  under  all  circumstances  ranked  as  the 
first  of  the  virtues,  to  submit  tamely  to  theft  or  tQ 


v^ 


VVILMOT  DOW  AND  THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 
(1886) 


THE  PIAZZA  AI    KLKHORN 

Photograph  by  Theodore  Roosevelt 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  PURSUIT  371 

any  other  injury  was,  he   knew,  to   invite  almost 
certain  repetition  of  the  offense. 

A  journal  which  he  kept  for  a  month  or  two  that 
spring  gives  in  laconic  terms  a  vivid  picture  of  those 
March  days. 

March  22.  Tramped  over  to  get  deer;  mountain  lions 
had  got  them, 

March  23.    Shot  4  prairie  chickens. 

March  24.  Thieves  stole  boat;  started  to  build  an- 
other to  go  after  them. 

March  25.  Went  out  after  deer;  saw  nothing.  Boat 
being  built.  River  ver>'  high ;  ice  piled  upon  banks  sev- 
eral feet. 

March  26.    Boat  building. 

March  27.  Boat  built.  Too  cold  to  start.  Shot  4 
chickens. 

March  28.    Bitter  cold. 

March  29.    Furious  blizzard. 

While  Sewall  and  Dow,  who  were  mighty  men 
with  their  hands,  were  building  the  boat,  and  his 
other  cowpuncher,  Rowe,  was  hurr>ang  to  Medora 
to  bring  out  a  wagon-load  of  supplies  for  their 
contemplated  journey,  Roosevelt  himself  was  by 
no  means  idle.  He  had  agreed  to  write  a  life  of 
Thomas  Hart  Benton  for  the  American  Statesmen 
Series,  and,  after  two  or  three  months'  work  in 
the  East  gathering  his  material,  had  begun  the 
actual  writing  of  the  book  immediately  after  his 
return  to  the  Bad  Lands. 

I  have  written  the  first  chapter  of  the  Benton  [he 
wrote  to  Lodge  on  March  27th],  so  at  any  rate  I  have 
made  a  start.    Writing  is  horribly  hard  work  to  me; 


372       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

and  I  make  slow  progress.  I  have  got  some  good  ideas 
in  the  first  chapter,  but  I  am  not  sure  they  are  worked 
up  rightly;  my  style  is  very  rough,  and  I  do  not  like  a 
certain  lack  of  sequitur  that  I  do  not  seem  able  to  get 
rid  of. 

I  thought  the  article  on  Morris  admirable  in  every 
way;  one  of  your  crack  pieces.  Some  of  the  sentences 
were  so  thoroughly  characteristic  of  you  that  I  laughed 
aloud  when  I  read  them.  One  of  my  men,  Sewall  (a 
descendant  of  the  Judge's,  by  the  way),  read  it  with 
as  much  interest  as  I  did,  and  talked  it  over  afterwards 
as  intelligently  as  any  one  could. 

At  present  we  are  all  snowed  up  by  a  blizzard;  as 
soon  as  it  lightens  up  I  shall  start  down  the  river  with 
two  of  my  men  in  a  boat  we  have  built  while  indoors, 
after  some  horse-thieves  who  took  our  boat  the  other 
night  to  get  out  of  the  country  with;  but  they  have 
such  a  start  we  have  very  little  chance  of  catching  them. 
I  shall  take  Matthew  Arnold  along;  I  have  had  no  chance 
at  all  to  read  it  as  yet. 

The  next  day  he  was  writing  to  his  sister  "  Bamie." 
He  was  evidently  convinced  that  she  would  worry 
about  him  if  she  knew  the  nature  of  the  adventure 
on  which  he  was  about  to  embark,  for  in  his  letter 
he  protests  almost  too  much  concerning  the  utterly 
unexciting  nature  of  his  activities: 

Since  I  wrote  you  life  has  settled  down  into  its  usual 
monotonous  course  here.  It  is  not  as  rough  as  I  had 
expected;  I  have  clean  sheets,  the  cooking  is  pretty- 
good,  and  above  all  I  have  a  sitting-room  with  a  great 
fireplace  and  a  rocking-chair,  which  I  use  as  my  study. 

The  walking  is  horrible ;  all  slippery  ice  or  else  deep, 
sticky  mud ;  but  as  we  are  very  short  of  meat  I  generally 
spend  three  or  four  hours  a  day  tramping  round  after 


DEPARTURE  373 

prairie  chickens,  and  one  day  last  week  I  shot  a  deer.  The 
rest  of  the  time  I  read  or  else  work  at  Benton,  which  is 
making  very  slow  progress;  writing  is  to  me  intensely 
irksome  work. 

In  a  day  or  two,  when  the  weather  gets  a  little  milder, 
I  expect  to  start  down  the  river  in  a  boat,  to  go  to  Man- 
dan;  the  trip  ought  to  take  a  week  or  ten  days,  more 
or  less.  It  will  be  good  fun.  My  life  on  the  ranch  this 
summer  is  not  going  to  be  an  especially  adventurous  or 
exciting  one;  and  my  work  will  be  mainly  one  of  super- 
vision so  that  there  will  be  no  especial  hardship  or  labor. 

I  really  enjoy  being  with  the  men  out  here;  they 
could  be  more  exactly  described  as  my  retainers  than 
as  anything  else;  and  I  am  able  to  keep  on  admirable 
terms  with  them  and  yet  avoid  the  familiarity  which 
would  assuredly  breed  contempt. 

On  the  30th  of  March  the  blizzard  which  had  been 
raging  a  day  or  two  moderated,  and  Roosevelt, 
hoping  a  thaw  had  set  in,  determined  to  set  off 
after  the  thieves.  They  left  Rowe  as  guard  over  the 
ranch  and  "  the  womenfolks,"  and  with  their  un- 
wieldy but  water-tight  craft,  laden  with  two  weeks* 
provision  of  flour,  coffee,  and  bacon,  started  to 
drift  down  the  river. 

The  region  through  which  they  passed  was  bare 
and  bleak  and  terrible.  On  either  side,  beyond  the 
heaped-up  piles  of  ice,  rose  the  scarred  buttes, 
weather-worn  into  fantastic  shapes  and  strangely 
blotched  with  spots  of  brown  and  yellow,  purple 
and  red.  Here  and  there  the  black  coal-veins  that 
ran  through  them  were  aflame,  gleaming  weirdly 
through  the  dusk  as  the  three  men  made  their 
camp  that  night. 


374       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

The  weather  was  cold  and  an  icy  wind  blew  in 
their  faces. 

"  We're  like  to  have  it  in  our  faces  all  day," 
remarked  Will  Dow  cheerfully,  paddling  at  the  bow. 

"  We  can't,  unless  it's  the  crookedest  wind  in 
Dakota,"  answered  Sewall,  who  was  steering. 

They  followed  the  river's  course  hither  and 
thither  in  and  out  among  the  crags,  east  and  west, 
north  and  south. 

"  It  is  the  crookedest  wind  in  Dakota,"  muttered 
Sewall  to  himself. 

The  thermometer  dropped  to  zero,  but  there  was 
firewood  in  plenty,  and  they  found  prairie  fowl  and 
deer  for  their  evening  meals.  Late  the  third  day, 
rounding  a  bend,  they  saw  their  boat  moored  against 
the  bank.  Out  of  the  bushes,  a  little  way  back,  the 
smoke  of  a  camp-fire  curled  up  through  the  frosty 
air. 

"  There's  your  boat!  "cried  Sewall,  who  had,  in  his 
own  phrase,  been  "looking  sharp."  "Get  your  guns 
ready.   I'll  handle  the  boat." 

They  flung  off  their  heavy  coats.  Sewall  was 
In  the  stern,  steering  the  boat  toward  shore.  Dow 
was  at  Roosevelt's  side  in  the  bow.  Roosevelt  saw 
the  grim,  eager  look  in  their  eyes,  and  his  own  eyes 
gleamed. 

He  was  the  first  ashore,  leaping  out  of  the  boat 
as  it  touched  the  shore  ice  and  running  up  behind  a 
clump  of  bushes,  so  as  to  cover  the  landing  of  the 
others.  Dow  was  beside  him  in  an  instant.  Sewall 
was  fastening  the  boat. 


HANDS  UP  375 

It  was  rather  funny  business  [Sewall  wrote  his  brother 
subsequently]  for  one  of  the  men  was  called  a  pretty 
hard  ticket.  He  was  also  a  shooting  man.  If  he  was  in 
the  bushes  and  saw  us  first  he  was  liable  to  make  it  very 
unhealthy  for  us. 

Roosevelt  and  Dow  peered  through  the  bushes. 
Beside  a  fire  in  a  grove  of  young  cottonwoods  a 
solitary  figure  was  sitting;  his  guns  were  on  the 
ground  at  his  side. 

"Hands  up!" 

Roosevelt  and  Dow  rushed  in  on  the  man,  who 
was  not  slow  to  do  as  he  was  told.  He  was  a  half- 
witted German  named  Wharfenberger,  a  tool  of 
rogues  more  keen  than  he,  whom  Sewall  later 
described  as  "an  oldish  man  who  drank  so  much 
poor  whiskey  that  he  had  lost  most  of  the  manhood 
he  ever  possessed." 

They  searched  the  old  man,  taking  his  gun  and 
his  knives  from  him,  and  telling  him  that  if  he  did 
exactly  as  he  was  told  they  would  use  him  well; 
but  if  he  disobeyed  or  tried  to  signal  the  other 
men,  they  would  kill  him  instantly.  Knowing 
something  of  the  frontier,  he  was  ready  to  believe 
that  he  would  be  given  short  shrift,  and  was  thor- 
oughly submissive. 

Finnegan  and  the  third  man,  a  half-breed  named 
Bernstead,  had,  it  seems,  gone  hunting,  believing 
themselves  safe,  Sewall  guarded  the  German,  while 
Roosevelt  and  Dow,  crouching  under  the  lee  of  a 
cutbank,  prepared  to  greet  the  others. 

The  ground  before  them  was  as  level  as  a  floor. 


376       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

with  no  growth  on  it  of  any  sort  beside  the  short 
dead  grass  which  would  not  have  given  cover  to  a 
rabbit.  Beyond,  to  the  east  lay  a  wide  stretch  of 
level  bottom  covered  with  sagebrush  as  high  as  a 
man's  waist,  and  beyond  that  was  a  fringe  of  bushes 
bordering  a  stretch  of  broken  butte  country.  The 
wind  had  fallen.  Save  for  the  rush  of  the  river, 
there  was  no  sound. 

Will  and  I  [Sewall  wrote  his  brother]  kept  watch  and 
listened  —  our  eyes  are  better  than  Roosevelt's,  Will 
on  the  right  and  I  on  the  left.  R.  was  to  rise  up  and  tell 
them  to  hands  up.  Will  and  I  both  with  double  barrel 
guns  loaded  with  Buck  shot,  and  we  were  all  going  to 
shoot  if  they  offered  to  raise  a  gun.  It  is  rather  savage 
work  but  it  don't  do  to  fool  with  such  fellows.  If  there 
was  any  killing  to  be  done  we  meant  to  do  it  ourselves. 

About  an  hour  before  sunset  they  heard  Finnegan 
and  his  companion  crawling  through  the  stunted 
bushes  at  the  foot  of  the  clay  hill.  The  men  started 
to  go  upstream. 

"  We  are  going  to  lose  them,"  Roosevelt  whis- 
pered; "  they  are  not  coming  to  camp." 

"  I  think,"  answered  Sewall,  "  they  are  looking 
for  the  camp  smoke." 

He  was  evidently  right,  for  suddenly  they  saw  it 
and  came  straight  through  the  sagebrush  toward  the 
watchers.  Roosevelt  and  his  men  watched  them  for 
some  minutes  as  they  came  nonchalantly  toward 
them,  the  barrels  of  their  rifles  glinting  in  the  sun- 
light. Now  they  were  forty  yards  away,  now  thirty, 
now  twenty. 


CAPTURE  OF  THE  THIEVES  377 

"Hands  up!" 

The  half-breed  obeyed,  but  for  an  instant  Finne- 
gan  hesitated,  glaring  at  his  captors  with  wolfish 
eyes.  Roosevelt  walked  toward  hin\  covering  the 
center  of  the  man's  chest  to  avoid  over-shooting 
him. 

"  You  thief,  put  up  your  hands!  " 

Finnegan  dropped  his  rifle  with  an  oath  and  put 
up  his  hands. 

They  searched  the  thieves  and  took  away  their 
weapons.  "If  you'll  keep  quiet,"  said  Roosevelt, 
"and  not  tr>'  to  get  away,  you'll  be  all  right.  If 
you  try  anything  we'll  shoot  you." 

This  was  language  which  the  thieves  understood, 
and  they  accepted  the  situation.  Sewall  took  an  old 
double-barrel  ten-gauge  Parker  shot-gun  and  stood 
guard. 

Dow  was  a  little  uneasy  about  the  gun. 

"  The  right-hand  barrel  goes  off  very  easily,"  he 
warned  Sewall.  "  It's  gone  off  with  me  several 
times  when  I  did  not  mean  it  to,  and  if  you  are 
going  to  cover  the  men  with  it  you  better  be  care- 
ful." 

"  I'll  be  careful,"  remarked  Sewall  in  his  deliber- 
ate fashion,  "  but  if  it  happens  to  go  off,  it  will 
make  more  difference  to  them  than  it  will  to  me." 

They  camped  that  night  where  they  were.  Hav- 
ing captured  their  mien,  they  were  somewhat  in  a 
quandary  how  to  keep  them.  The  cold  was  so 
intense  that  to  tie  them  tightly  hand  and  foot 
meant  in  all  likelihood  freezing  both  hands  and  feet 


378       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

off  during  the  night;  there  was  no  use  tying  them 
at  all,  moreover,  unless  they  tied  them  tightly 
enough  to  stop  in  part  the  circulation.  Roosevelt 
took  away  everything  from  the  thieves  that  might 
have  done  service  as  a  weapon,  and  corded  his 
harvest  in  some  bedding  well  out  of  reach  of  the 
thieves. 

"  Take  off  your  boots!  "  he  ordered. 

It  had  occurred  to  him  that  bare  feet  would 
make  any  thought  of  flight  through  that  cactus 
country  extremely  uninviting.  The  men  surrendered 
their  boots.  Roosevelt  gave  them  a  buffalo  robe  in 
return  and  the  prisoners  crawled  under  it,  thor- 
oughly cowed. 

Captors  and  captives  started  downstream  in  the 
two  boats  the  next  morning.  The  cold  was  bitter. 
Toward  the  end  of  the  day  they  were  stopped  by  a 
small  ice- jam  which  moved  forward  slowly  only  to 
stop  them  again.  They  ran  the  boats  ashore  to 
investigate,  and  found  that  the  great  Ox-Bow  jam, 
which  had  moved  past  Elkhorn  a  week  ago,  had 
come  to  a  halt  and  now  effectually  barred  their  way. 
They  could  not  possibly  paddle  upstream  against 
the  current;  they  could  not  go  on  foot,  for  to  do 
so  would  have  meant  the  sacrifice  of  all  their 
equipment.  They  determined  to  follow  the  slow- 
moving  mass  of  ice,  and  hope,  meanwhile,  for  a 
thaw. 

They  continued  to  hope;  day  after  weary  day 
they  watched  in  vain  for  signs  of  the  thaw  that 
would   not  come,   breaking  camp  in  the  morning 


MAROONED  379 

on  one  barren  point,  only  to  pitch  camp  again  in 
the  evening  on  another,  guarding  the  prisoners 
every  instant,  for  the  trouble  they  were  costing 
made  the  captors  even  more  determined  that, 
whatever  was  lost,  Finnegan  and  Company  should 
not  be  lost. 

Roosevelt's  journal  for  those  days  tells  the  stor}': 

April  I.    Captured  the  three  boat-thieves. 

April  2.  Came  on  with  our  prisoners  till  hung  up  by 
ice- jam. 

April  3.   Hung  up  by  ice. 

April  4.   Hung  up  by  ice. 

April  5.  Worked  down  a  couple  of  miles  till  again 
hung  up  by  ice. 

April  6.  Worked  down  a  couple  of  miles  again  to 
tail  of  ice- jam. 

Their  provisions  ran  short.  They  went  after 
game,  but  there  w-as  none  to  be  seen,  no  beast  or 
bird,  in  that  barren  region.  The  addition  to  their 
company  had  made  severe  inroads  on  their  larder 
and  it  was  not  long  before  they  were  all  reduced 
to  unleavened  bread  made  w^ith  muddy  water. 
The  days  were  utterly  tedious,  and  were  made 
only  slightly  more  bearable  for  Roosevelt  by 
Tolstoy's  "  Anna  Karenina  "  and  Matthew  Arnold, 
interlarded  with  "  The  History  of  the  James 
Brothers,"  which  the  thieves  quite  properly  carried 
among  their  belongings.  And  the  thieves  had  to  be 
watched  every  minute,  and  the  wind  blew  and 
chilled  them  to  the  bone. 

Roosevelt   thought   that   it   might   be   pleasant 


38o       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

under  certain  circumstances  to  be  either  a  Dakota 
sheriff  or  an  Arctic  explorer.  But  he  did  not  find 
great  joy  in  being  both  at  the  same  time. 

When  the  flour  was  nearly  gone,  Roosevelt  and 
his  men  had  a  consultation. 

"  We  can't  shoot  them,"  said  Roosevelt,  "  and 
we  can't  feed  them.  It  looks  to  me  as  though  we'd 
have  to  let  them  go." 

Sewall  disagreed.  "  The  flour'll  last  a  day  or 
two  more,"  he  said,  "  and  it's  something  to  know 
that  if  we're  punishing  ourselves,  we're  punishing 
the  thieves  also." 

"  Exactly!  "  cried  Roosevelt.  "  We'll  hold  on  to 
them!" 

The  next  day  Sewall,  on  foot,  searched  the  sur- 
rounding region  far  and  wide  for  a  ranch,  and  found 
none.  The  day  after,  Roosevelt  and  Dow  covered 
the  country  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  and  at 
last  came  on  an  outlying  cow-camp  of  the  Diamond 
C  Ranch,  where  Roosevelt  secured  a  horse. 

It  was  a  wiry,  rebellious  beast. 

"  The  boss  ain't  no  bronco-buster,"  remarked 
Dow,  apologetically,  to  the  cowboys. 

But  "  the  boss  "  managed  to  get  on  the  horse 
and  to  stay  on.  Dow  returned  to  Sewall  and  the 
thieves,  while  Roosevelt  rode  fifteen  miles  to  a  ranch 
at  the  edge  of  the  Killdeer  Mountains.  There  he 
secured  supplies  and  a  prairie-schooner,  hiring  the 
ranchman  himself,  a  rugged  old  plainsman,  to  drive 
it  to  the  camp  by  the  ice-bound  river.  Sewall  and 
Dow,  now  thoroughly  provisioned,  remained  with 


CROSS  COUNTRY  TO  JAIL  381 

the  boats.  Roosevelt  with  the  thieves  started  for 
the  nearest  jail,  which  was  at  Dickinson. 

It  was  a  desolate  two  dajs'  journey  through  a 
bleak  waste  of  burnt,  blackened  prairie,  and  over 
rivers  so  rough  with  ice  that  they  had  to  take  the 
wagon  apart  to  cross.  Roosevelt  did  not  dare  abate 
his  watch  over  the  thieves  for  an  instant,  for  they 
knew  they  were  drawing  close  to  jail  and  might 
conceivably  make  a  desperate  break  any  minute. 
He  could  not  trust  the  driver.  There  was  nothing 
for  it  but  to  pack  the  men  into  the  wagon  and  to 
walk  behind  with  the  Winchester. 

Hour  after  hour  he  trudged  through  the  ankle- 
deep  mud,  hungry,  cold,  and  utterly  fatigued,  but 
possessed  by  the  dogged  resolution  to  carry  the 
thing  through,  whatever  the  cost.  They  put  up  at 
the  squalid  hut  of  a  frontier  granger  overnight,  but 
Roosevelt,  weary  as  he  was,  did  not  dare  to  sleep. 
He  crowded  the  prisoners  into  the  upper  bunk  and 
sat  against  the  cabin  door  all  night,  with  the 
Winchester  across  his  knees. 

Roosevelt's  journal  gives  the  stages  of  his  pro- 
gress. 

April  7.  Worked  down  to  C  Diamond  Ranch.  Two 
prairie  chickens. 

April  8.  Rode  to  Killdeer  Mountains  to  arrange  for 
a  wagon  which  I  hired. 

April  9.    Walked  captives  to  Killdeer  Mountains. 

April  10.  Drove  captives  in  wagon  to  Captain  Brown's 
ranch. 

"  What  I  can't  make  out,"  said  the  ranchman 


382       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

from  the  Killdeers,  with  a  puzzled  expression  on 
his  deeply  wrinkled,  tough  old  face,  which  Sewall 
said  "  looked  like  the  instep  of  an  old  boot  that  had 
lain  out  in  the  weather  for  years,"  — "  what  I 
can't  make  out  is  why  you  make  all  this  fuss  instead 
of  hanging  'em  offhand." 

Roosevelt  grinned,  and  the  following  evening, 
after  a  three-hundred-mile  journey,  deposited  three 
men  who  had  defied  the  laws  of  Dakota  in  the  jail 
at  Dickinson. 

He  was  not  a  vision  of  beauty  as  he  emerged  from 
the  jail  to  find  a  place  to  scrape  off  two  weeks' 
accumulation  of  Dakota  mud.  His  feet  were  in  bad 
shape  from  the  long  march  through  the  gumbo,  and 
he  asked  the  first  man  he  met  where  he  could  find 
a  physician.  By  a  curious  coincidence  the  man  he 
addressed  happened  to  be  the  only  physician  within 
a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  in  any  direction.  It  was 
Dr.  Stickney. 

They  had  heard  of  each  other,  and  Roosevelt  was 
glad,  for  more  reasons  than  one,  to  follow  him  to 
his  office.  For  the  quiet  man  with  the  twinkling 
eyes,  who  combined  the  courage  and  the  humanness 
of  a  cowpuncher  with  the  unselfish  devotion  of  a 
saint,  was  a  great  figure  in  the  Bad  Lands.  Like 
Roosevelt  he  was  under  thirty. 

The  doctor,  in  after  years,  told  of  that  morning's 
visit.  "  He  did  not  seem  worn  out  or  unduly  tired," 
he  said.  "  He  had  just  come  from  the  jail,  having 
deposited  his  prisoners  at  last,  and  had  had  no  sleep 
for  forty-eight  hours,  and  he  was  all  teeth  and  eyes; 


ARRIVAL  IN  DICKINSON  383 

but  even  so  he  seemed  a  man  unusually  wide  awake. 
You  could  see  he  was  thrilled  by  the  adventures  he 
had  been  through.  He  did  not  seem  to  think  he 
had  done  anything  particularly  commendable,  but 
he  was,  in  his  own  phrase,  '  pleased  as  Punch  '  at 
the  idea  of  having  participated  in  a  real  adventure. 
He  was  just  like  a  boy. 

"  We  talked  of  many  things  that  day  while  I 
was  repairing  his  blistered  feet.  He  impressed  me 
and  he  puzzled  me,  and  when  I  went  home  to  lunch, 
an  hour  later,  I  told  my  wife  that  I  had  met  the 
most  peculiar,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most 
wonderful,  man  I  had  ever  come  to  know.  I  could 
see  that  he  was  a  man  of  brilliant  ability  and  I 
could  not  understand  why  he  was  out  there  on  the 
frontier.  I  had  heard  his  name  and  I  had  read 
something  of  his  work  in  the  New  York  Legislature 
and  in  the  Republican  Convention,  two  years 
previous,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  belonged, 
not  here  on  the  frontier,  but  in  the  East,  in  the 
turmoil  of  large  affairs." 

I  got  the  three  horse-thieves  in  fine  style  [Roosevelt 
wrote  to  Lodge].  My  two  Maine  men  and  I  ran  down 
the  river  three  days  in  our  boat,  and  then  came  on  their 
camp  by  surprise.  As  they  knew  there  was  no  other 
boat  on  the  river  but  the  one  they  had  taken,  and  as 
they  had  not  thought  of  our  building  another,  they  were 
completely  taken  unawares,  one  with  his  rifle  on  the 
ground,  and  the  others  with  theirs  on  their  shoulders; 
so  there  was  no  fight,  nor  any  need  of  pluck  on  our  part. 
We  simply  crept  noiselessly  up  and  rising,  when  only  a 
few  yards  distant,  covered  them  with  the  cocked  rifles 


384       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

while  I  told  them  to  throw  up  their  hands.  They  saw 
that  we  had  the  drop  on  them  completely,  and  I  guess 
they  also  saw  that  we  surely  meant  shooting  if  they 
hesitated,  and  so  their  hands  went  up  at  once.  We  kept 
them  with  us  nearly  a  week,  being  caught  in  an  ice-jam; 
then  we  came  to  a  ranch  where  I  got  a  wagon,  and  I 
sent  my  two  men  on  downstream  with  the  boat,  while 
I  took  the  three  captives  overland  a  two  days'  journey 
to  a  town  where  I  could  give  them  to  the  sheriff.  I  was 
pretty  sleepy  when  I  got  there,  as  I  had  to  keep  awake 
at  night  a  good  deal  in  guarding;  and  we  had  gotten 
out  of  food  and  the  cold  had  been  intense. 

To  his  sister  Corinne  he  admitted  that  he  was 
well  satisfied  to  part  from  his  prisoners. 

I  was  really  glad  to  give  them  up  to  the  sheriff  this 
morning  [he  writes  from  Dickinson],  for  I  was  pretty 
well  done  out  with  the  work,  the  lack  of  sleep,  and  the 
constant  watchfulness,  but  I  am  as  brown  and  as  tough 
as  a  pine  knot  and  feel  equal  to  anything. 

It  happened  that  the  editor  of  the  Herald  of 
Newburyport,  Massachusetts,  had  a  friend  In 
Dickinson  who  occasionally  sent  him  news  of  the 
frontier  which  he  printed  as  the  "  Dickinson 
(Dakota)  Letter  to  the  Newburyport  Herald." 

To  illustrate  what  manner  of  men  we  need  [he  wrote 
during  the  week  following  the  successful  conclusion  of 
Roosevelt's  adventure],  I  will  relate  an  incident  which  is 
to  the  point.  I  presume  you  are  all  acquainted,  through 
the  newspapers,  with  the  Hon.  Theodore  Roosevelt,  who 
is  quite  prominent  in  New  York  politics  and  society. 
He  owns  a  ranch  on  the  Little  Missouri,  about  eighty 
miles  northwest  from  here,  and  created  quite  a  stir  last 


^.'•^^^ 


THE  ONLY  DAMN  FOOL  385 

Sunday  by  bringing  to  town  three  horse-thieves  whom  he 
had  captured  with  the  help  of  two  of  his  "  cow  men." 

Thereupon  follows  the  story  of  the  capture  and 
jailing  of  Finnegan  and  Company. 

When  I  saw  him  [the  correspondent  continues],  Mr. 
Roosevelt  had  been  on  the  "  trail  "  for  three  weeks,  and 
wore  a  cowboy's  hat,  corduroy  jacket,  flannel  shirt, 
and  heavy  shoes,  but  was  in  excellent  health  and  spirits. 

Said  he,  "  I  don't  know  how  I  look,  but  I  feel  first- 
rate!  " 

The  next  morning  he  appeared  in  the  justice's  court, 
saw  the  outlaws  indicted,  and  a  little  later  took  the  train 
bound  west,  for  his  "  cow  camp."  I  had  never  seen 
Mr.  Roosevelt  before,  although  I  had  read  many  articles 
from  his  pen;  and  when  I  left  home  I  had  no  idea  of 
meeting  a  gentleman  of  his  standing  on  the  frontier 
masquerading  in  the  character  of  an  impromptu  sheriff. 
But,  only  such  men  of  courage  and  energy  can  hope  to 
succeed  in  this  new,  beautiful,  but  undeveloped  country. 

The  justice  of  the  peace  who  indicted  the  thieves 
w^as  Western  Starr.  He  turned  out  to  be  an  old  ac- 
quaintance of  Roosevelt's,  a  classmate  In  the  Co- 
lumbia Law  School.  The  coincidence  gave  an  added 
flavor  to  the  proceeding. 

In  Medora  there  seemed  to  be  only  one  opinion 
concerning  Roosevelt's  adventure,  though  it  was 
variously  expressed. 

"  Roosevelt,"  said  his  friend,  John  Simpson,  a 
Texan,  who  was  owner  of  the  "  Hash-knife " 
brand  and  one  of  the  greatest  cattlemen  in  the 
region,  "  no  one  but  you  would  have  followed 
those  men  with  just  a  couple  of  cow-hands.  You 
are  the  only  real  damn  fool  in  the  county." 


386       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

The  rest  of  the  population  echoed  the  bewildered 
query  of  the  teamster  from  the  Killdeers.  "  Why 
didn't  you  kill  them?  "  every  one  asked.  "  They 
would  have  killed  you." 

"  I  didn't  come  out  here  to  kill  anybody," 
Roosevelt  answered.  "  All  I  wanted  to  do  was  to 
defend  myself  and  my  property.  There  wasn't  any 
one  around  to  defend  them  for  me,  so  I  had  to  do 
it  myself." 

And  there  the  matter  rested.  But  the  people  of  Me- 
dora  began  to  see  a  little  more  clearly  than  they  had 
ever  seen  before  the  meaning  of  government  by  law.^ 

^  The  thieves  were  tried  at  Mandan  in  August,  1886.  The  German, 
known  as  "Dutch  Chris,"  was  acquitted,  but  Finnegan,  and  Bern- 
stead,  known  as  "the  half-breed,"  were  sentenced  to  twenty-five 
months  in  the  Bismarck  Penitentiary.  Finnegan  glared  at  Roosevelt 
as  he  passed  him  in  the  court  room.  "  If  Fd  had  any  show  at  all,"  he 
cried,  "you'd  have  sure  had  to  fight!" 

That  was  no  doubt  true,  but  his  anger  evidently  wore  off  in  the  cool 
of  the  prison,  for  a  little  later  he  wrote  Roosevelt  a  long  and  friendly 
epistle,  which  was  intended  to  explain  many  things: 

In  the  first  place  I  did  not  take  your  boat  Mr.  Roosevelt  because  I 
wanted  to  steal  something,  no  indeed,  when  I  took  that  vessel  I  was  la- 
bouring under  the  impression,  die  dog  or  eat  the  hachette.  .  .  .  When  I 
was  a  couple  of  miles  above  your  ranch  the  boat  I  had  sprung  a  leak  and  I 
saw  I  could  not  make  the  Big  Missouri  in  it  in  the  shape  that  it  was  in.  I 
thought  of  asking  assistance  of  you,  but  I  supposed  you  had  lost  some 
saddles  and  blamed  me  for  taking  them.  Now  there  I  was  with  a  leaky 
boat  and  under  the  circumstances  what  was  I  two  do,  two  ask  you  for 
help,  the  answer  I  expected  two  get  was  two  look  down  the  mouth  of  a 
Winchester.  I  saw  your  boat  and  made  up  my  mind  two  get  possession  of 
it.  I  was  bound  two  get  out  of  that  country  cost  what  it  might,  when 
people  talk  lynch  law  and  threaten  a  persons  life,  I  think  that  it  is  about 
time  to  leave.  I  did  not  want  to  go  back  up  river  on  the  account  that  I 
feared  a  mob.  ...  I  have  read  a  good  many  of  your  sketches  of  ranch 
life  in  the  papers  since  I  have  been  here,  and  they  interested  me  deeply. 
Yours  sincerely. 

&c 
P.S.    Should  you  stop  over  at  Bismarck  this  fall  make  a  call  to  the 
Prison.   I  should  be  glad  to  meet  you. 


XXIII 

Oh,  I  am  a  Texas  cowboy,  light-hearted,  brave,  and  free, 
To  roam  the  wide,  wide  prairie,  'tis  always  joy  to  me. 
My  trusty  little  pony  is  my  companion  true, 
O'er  creeks  and  hills  and  rivers  he's  sure  to  pull  me  through. 

When  threatening  clouds  do  gather  and  herded  lightnings  flash, 
And  heavy  rain  drops  splatter,  and  rolling  thunders  crash; 
What  keeps  the  herds  from  running,  stampeding  far  and  wide? 
The  cowboy's  long,  low  whistle  and  singing  by  their  side. 

Cowboy  song 

By  a  curious  coincidence  the  culmination  of  Roose- 
velt's dramatic  exposition  of  the  meaning  of  govern- 
ment by  law  coincided  in  point  of  time  precisely 
with  the  passing  of  the  Bad  Lands  out  of  a  state  of 
primeval  lawlessness  into  a  condition  resembling 
organized  government. 

Since  the  preceding  summer,  Packard  had,  in  the 
columns  of  the  Cowboy,  once  more  been  agitating 
for  the  organization  of  Billings  County.  The  con- 
ditions, which  in  the  past  had  militated  against 
the  proposal,  were  no  longer  potent.  The  lawless 
element  was  still  large,  but  it  was  no  longer  in  the 
majority.  For  a  time  a  new  and  naive  objection 
made  itself  widely  heard.  The  stock-growers  pro- 
tested that  if  the  county  were  organized,  they  would 
be  taxed!  The  Mandan  Pioneer  explained  that, 
according  to  the  laws  of  Dakota  Territory,  the 
nearest  organized  county  was  authorized  to  tax  all 
the  cattle  and  other  stock  in  Billings  County,  and 
that  "  the  only  possible  difference  that  could  result 


388       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

in  organization  would  be  to  keep  the  taxes  at  home 
and  allow  them  to  be  expended  for  home  improve- 
ments such  as  roads,  bridges,  schoolhouses,  and 
public  buildings."  The  cattlemen  were  not  in  a 
position  to  explain  publicly  what  they  probably 
meant,  namely,  that  a  board  of  county  commis- 
sioners and  a  tax  assessor  sitting  in  Medora  would 
have  far  less  difficulty  than  a  similar  group  sitting 
a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  east  in  Mandan  in  follow- 
ing the  mysterious  movements  of  their  cattle  during 
the  season  when  assessments  were  made.  An  active 
agent  of  the  county  might  conceivably  note  that 
when  Billings  County,  Dakota,  was  making  its 
assessments,  the  herds  could  generally  be  found  in 
Fallon  County,  Montana,  and  that  when  Fallon 
County  was  making  its  assessments,  the  cattle  were 
all  grazing  in  Billings.  But  even  in  the  Bad  Lands 
it  was  no  longer  politic  to  protest  openly  against 
what  was  palpably  the  public  welfare,  and  the 
petition  for  the  organization  of  the  county  received 
the  necessary  signatures,  and  was  sent  to  the  gov- 
ernor. "  This  is  a  step  in  the  right  direction,"  patro- 
nizingly remarked  the  Mandan  Pioneer.  "  Billings 
County  is  rich  enough  and  strong  enough  to  run  its 
own  affairs." 

Merrifield  and  Sylvane  Ferris  had  been  active  in 
the  work  of  organization,  and  were  eager  to  "run  " 
Bill  Sewall  for  County  commissioner.  But  that 
shrewd  individual  pleaded  unfitness  and  lack  of  time 
and  refused  to  be  cajoled  into  becoming  a  candidate. 

There  is  some  doubt  concerning  the  exact  date 


MEDORA'S  FIRST  ELECTION  389 

of  the  first  election.  Roosevelt's  diary  would  in- 
dicate that  it  was  held  on  April  12th,  but  the 
paragraph  printed  in  the  Minneapolis  Tribune  of 
April  15th  would  indicate  that  it  was  held  on  the 
14th.  Both  statements  are  probably  wrong,  and 
the  election  in  all  likelihood  was  held  on  the  13th. 

Roosevelt,  having  testified  against  the  three 
thieves,  returned  to  Medora  late  on  the  after- 
noon of  election.  There  had  been  many  threats 
that  the  party  of  disorder  would  import  section 
hands  from  the  neighboring  railway  stations  to 
down  the  legions  of  the  righteous.  An  especial 
watcher  had  been  set  at  the  polling-places.  It  was 
none  other  than  Hell-Roaring  Bill  Jones.  He  was 
still  on  most  cordial  terms  with  his  old  intimates, 
the  ruffians  who  congregated  at  Bill  Williams's 
saloon,  but  he  liked  Roosevelt  and  the  men  who 
surrounded  the  young  Easterner,  and  had  cast  in 
his  lot  with  them.  The  effectiveness,  as  a  guardian 
of  the  peace,  of  the  man  who  had  at  the  beginning 
of  his  career  in  the  Bad  Lands  been  saloon  "  bouncer  " 
for  Bill  Williams  was  notable. 

Roosevelt  found  a  group  of  his  friends  at  the 
polling-place. 

"  Has  there  been  any  disorder?  "  he  asked. 

"  Disorder,  hell!  "  said  one  of  the  men  in  the 
group.  "  Bill  Jones  just  stood  there  with  one  hand 
on  his  gun  and  the  other  pointin'  over  toward  the 
new  jail  whenever  any  man  who  did  n't  have  the 
right  to  vote  come  near  the  polls.  There  was  only 
one  of  them  tried  to  vote,  and  Bill  knocked  him 


390       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

down.  Lord!"  he  concluded  meditatively,  "the 
way  that  man  fell!  " 

"  Well,"  struck  in  Bill  Jones,  "  if  he  hadn't  fell. 
I'd  of  walked  round  behind  him  to  see  what  was 
proppin'  him  up!  " 

The  candidates  for  the  various  offices  had  been 
selected  in  a  spirit  of  compromise  between  the  two 
elements  in  the  town,  the  forces  of  order  securing 
every  office  except  one.  The  county  commission- 
ers elected  were  "Johnny"  Goodall,  a  blacksmith 
named  Dan  Mackenzie,  and  J.  L.  Truscott,  who 
owned  a  large  ranch  south  of  the  Big  Ox  Bow.  Van 
Driesche,  the  best  of  all  valets,  was  elected  treasurer, 
and  Bill  Dantz  superintendent  of  schools;  but  the 
forces  of  disorder  could  afford  to  regard  the  result 
without  apprehension,  for  they  had  been  allowed 
to  elect  the  sheriff;  and  they  had  elected  Joe 
Morrill. 

Election  night  was  lurid.  Morrill,  evidently  de- 
siring to  make  a  good  impression  without  serious 
inconvenience  to  his  friends,  served  notice  immedi- 
ately after  his  election  that  there  must  be  no  "  shoot- 
ing up  "  of  the  town,  but  "  the  boys  "  did  not  take 
Morrill  very  seriously.  Fisher,  who  had  a  room  in 
Mrs.  McGeeney's  hotel  next  to  Joe  Ferris's  store, 
found  the  place  too  noisy  for  comfort,  and  adjourned 
to  the  office  of  the  Bad  Lands  Coivhoy.  The  little 
shack  was  unoccupied,  for  Packard,  having  recently 
married,  had  moved  his  residence  into  one  of  the 
deserted  cantonment  buildings  on  the  western  side 
of  the  river.   Truscott  had  neglected  to  secure  a 


THE  CELEBRATION  39i 

room  in  the  hotel  and  Fisher  invited  him  to  join 
him  in  the  Cowboy  office. 

The  day  had  been  strenuous,  and  the  two  men 
were  soon  sound  asleep.  Fisher  was  awakened  by 
a  sharp  object  striking  him  in  the  face.  An  instant 
later  he  heard  a  round  of  shots,  followed  instantly 
by  another  shower  of  broken  glass.  He  discovered 
that  one  of  the  windows,  which  faced  the  Tamblyn 
Saloon,  was  completely  shattered.  He  shook  Trus- 
cott. 

"  I  guess,"  he  said,  "  we'd  better  look  for  some 
place  not  quite  so  convenient  for  a  target." 

They  adjourned  to  Fisher's  room  in  Mrs.  Mc- 
Geeney's  hotel.  After  all,  noise  was  preferable  to 
bullets. 

"  The  boys "  were  full  of  apologies  the  next 
morning,  declaring  that  they  had  not  realized  that 
the  place  was  occupied.  Packard,  it  seemed,  had 
been  publishing  certain  editorials  shortly  before 
dealing  with  the  criminal  responsibility  of  drunk- 
ards, and  they  just  thought  they  would  give  the 
Cowboy  a  "  touching  up." 

Medora's  new  regime  began  with  a  call  which 
Howard  Eaton  made  upon  Merrifield. 

"  Now  that  we're  organized,  we'll  have  some  fun 
with  Deacon  Cummins,"  said  Eaton,  with  a  chuckle. 

Eaton  had  apprehensions  that  the  "  Deacon  " 
would  ask  for  improvements,  a  road  to  his  ranch, 
for  instance,  or  possibly  a  bridge  or  two,  so  he  sug- 
gested to  Merrifield  that  they  draw  up  a  statement 
calculated  to  discourage  any  such  aspirations.    This 


392       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

was  the  statement  as  they  finally  submitted  it  to 
their  fellow  citizens: 

We  the  undersigned  do  hereby  solemnly  covenant 
and  agree  to  hang,  burn,  or  drown  any  man  that  will 
ask  for  public  improvements  made  at  the  expense  of 
the  County. 

Eaton  and  Merrifield  signed  it,  together  with  a 
dozen  others;  then  they  laid  it  before  Mrs.  Cum- 
mins's  husband  for  his  signature.  "  The  Deacon  " 
took  it  with  extreme  seriousness,  and  signed  his 
name  to  it;  and  there  was  no  call  for  improvements 
from  the  solemn  couple  at  Tepee  Bottom. 

The  day  after  the  election,  the  Little  Missouri 
Stock  Association  held  its  semi-annual  meeting. 
Roosevelt  presided,  "  preserving,"  as  he  wrote  to 
Lodge  a  day  or  so  later,  "  the  most  rigid  parlia- 
mentary decorum."  He  was  elected  a  representa- 
tive of  the  Association  at  the  meeting  of  the  Mon- 
tana Stock  growers'  Association  in  Miles  City,  to 
be  held  a  day  or  two  later,  and,  after  a  hurried 
trip  to  Elkhorn  Ranch  with  Merrifield,  started 
west  for  Miles  City,  taking  Sylvane  with  him. 

Miles  City  was  a  feverish  little  cow-town  under 
ordinary  circumstances,  but  in  April  of  every  year, 
when  the  cattlemen  of  Montana  and  western  Da- 
kota gathered  there  for  the  annual  meeting  of 
the  Montana  Stockgrowers'  Association,  it  was 
jubilant  and  noisy  beyond  description.  For  a  week 
before  the  convention  was  called  to  order,  stockmen 
from  near  and  far  began  to  arrive,  bringing  in  their 
train   thirsty   and   hilarious   cowboys   who   looked 


MILES  CITY  MEETING  393 

upon  the  occasion  mainly  as  a  golden  opportunity 
for  a  spree.  They  galloped  madly  up  and  down  the 
wide,  dusty  streets  at  every  hour  of  the  day  and 
night,  knowing  no  sober  moment  as  long  as  the 
convention  lasted. 

Roosevelt  and  Sylvane  arrived  on  April  i8th, 
taking  what  quarters  they  could  get  in  the  Mac- 
queen  House  which  was  crowded  to  the  doors  and 
was  granting  nobody  more  than  half  a  bed.  The 
ceremonies  began  early  next  morning  with  a  blast 
from  the  Fifth  Infantry  band  from  Fort  Keogh,  the 
army  post  two  miles  to  the  west. 

Promptly  at  9:30  a.m.  [runs  the  story  in  the  Minne- 
apolis Tribune]  a  procession  was  formed  in  front  of  the 
Macqueen  House,  with  the  Fifth  Infantry  band  at  Its 
head,  followed  by  carriages  containing  the  officers  of 
the  Association  and  ladies;  next  a  cavalcade  of  wild 
cowboys  just  brought  in  from  the  adjacent  ranges, 
followed  by  about  150  cowmen  marching  four  abreast. 
The  procession  was  about  two  and  one-half  blocks  long 
from  end  to  end,  and  the  line  of  march  was  through 
the  principal  streets  to  the  skating  rink,  where  the  public 
meetings  of  the  Association  are  held. 

As  the  procession  was  nearing  the  rink,  the  horses 
of  the  foremost  carriage,  containing  the  president, 
vice-president,  and  secretary,  took  fright  and  dashed 
into  the  band.  Both  horses  took  the  same  side  of  the 
tongue  and  made  things  unpleasant.  At  this  stage  of 
the  game  President  Bryan  and  others  abandoned  the 
carriage,  and  Secretary  R.  B.  Harrison,  with  his  large 
minute  book,  made  a  leap  for  life,  and  the  subsequent 
proceedings  interested  him  no  more.  The  procession  then 
broke  up  with  a  wild  charge  of  cowboys,  accompanied 


394       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 


! 


with  such  yells  as  would   strike  terror  to  the  heart  of 
the  tenderfooted. 

The  actual  meeting  of  the  Stockgrowers'  Asso- 
ciation was,  contrary  to  what  might  have  been  ex- 
pected from  its  prelude,  a  thoroughly  dignified  affair. 
Roosevelt  was,  as  one  of  the  other  stockmen  later 
declared,  'rather  inclined  to  listen  and  take  the 
advice  of  older  men";  but  it  was  significant  that 
he  was,  nevertheless,  elected  to  the  Executive 
Committee  as  the  successor  of  the  Marquis  de 
INIores  as  representative  for  Dakota  Territory;  and 
was  appointed  to  one  or  two  other  committees  of 
lesser  importance. 

"  Roosevelt  was  of  a  restless,  nervous,  but 
aggressive  disposition,"  said  H.  H.  Hobson,  of 
Great  Falls,  who  was  present  at  that  meeting, 
"  and  took  a  keen  interest  in  the  proceedings.  He 
was  a  great  admirer  of  Granville  Stuart,  and  was 
always  on  his  side  of  every  question." 

The  absorbing  issues  before  the  convention  were 
the  Texas  fever  and  the  overstocking  of  the  range. 
Feeling  ran  high,  and  "  the  debates,"  as  Hobson 
later  remarked,  "  were  more  than  warm.  Roose- 
velt," he  added,  "  was  at  all  times  eager  and  ready 
to  champion  his  side." 

At  one  of  the  sessions  there  was  a  fierce  debate 
between  two  prominent  cattlemen,  which  was 
renewed,  after  the  meeting,  at  the  Miles  City  Club. 
Each  man  had  his  hot  partisans,  who  began  to 
send  messengers  out  for  reinforcements.  Most  of 
the  men  were  armed.    It  was  clear  that  if  hostilities 


ROOSEVELT'S  CATTLE  PROSPECTS   395 

once  broke  out,  they  would  develop  instantly  into 
a  miniature  war. 

Roosevelt  saw  that  the  situation  was  critical,  and 
jumped  to  his  feet.  "  If  you  can't  settle  your  own 
difficulties,"  he  cried  to  the  two  men  who  had  started 
the  quarrel,  "  why  don't  you  fight  it  out?  I'll 
referee." 

The  suggestion  was  received  with  favor.  Roose- 
velt formed  a  ring  and  the  two  men  expended  their 
anger  in  a  furious  fist  fight.  Which  man  won, 
history  does  not  record.  The  important  point  is 
that  Roosevelt,  by  his  resolute  action,  had  prevented 
a  fight  with  "  six-shooters." 

I  have  just  returned  from  the  Stockmen's  Convention 
in  Miles  City  [Roosevelt  wrote  "  Bamie  "  from  Elkhorn 
on  April  22d],  which  raw,  thriving  frontier  town  was  for 
three  days  thronged  with  hundreds  of  rough-looking, 
broad-hatted  men,  numbering  among  them  all  the  great 
cattle  and  horse  raisers  of  the  Northwest.  I  took  my 
position  very  well  in  the  convention,  and  indeed  these 
Westerners  have  now  pretty  well  accepted  me  as  one  of 
themselves,  and  as  a  representative  stockman.  I  am  on 
the  Executive  Committee  of  the  Association,  am  Presi- 
dent of  the  Dakota  branch,  etc. —  all  of  which  directly 
helps  me  in  my  business  relations  here. 

There  is  something  almost  touching  in  Roosevelt's 
efforts  to  persuade  his  sisters  that  his  cattle  venture 
was  not  the  piece  of  wild  recklessness  which  they 
evidently  considered  it. 

This  winter  has  certainly  been  a  marvelously  good  one 
for  cattle  [he  wrote  in  another  letter].  My  loss  has  been 
so  trifling  as  hardly  to  be  worth  taking  into  account; 


396       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

although  there  may  be  a  number  who  have  strayed  off. 
I  think  my  own  expenses  out  here  this  summer  will  be 
very  light  indeed,  and  then  we  will  be  able  to  start  all 
square  with  the  beginning  of  the  New  Year. 

In  another  letter  he  wrote,  '*  Unless  we  have 
a  big  accident,  I  shall  get  through  this  all  right,  if 
only  I  can  get  started  square  with  no  debt!  "  And 
a  little  later  he  sent  "  Bamie  "  a  clipping  from  a 
review  of  his  "  Hunting  Trips  of  a  Ranchman," 
which  referred  to  him  as  "  a  man  of  large  and 
various  powers  in  public  matters  as  well  as  shrewd 
and  enterprising  in  the  conduct  of  business."  "  I 
send  the  enclosed  slip,"  he  wrote,  "  on  account  of 
the  awful  irony  of  the  lines  I  have  underscored; 
send  it  to  Douglas  when  you  write  him." 

"  Douglas  "  was  Douglas  Robinson,  the  husband 
of  Roosevelt's  sister  Corinne,  and  distinctly  the 
business  man  of  the  family. 

Bill  Sewall  was  apprehensive.  "  There  was  always 
a  cloud  over  me,"  he  said  long  afterward, "because  I 
never  could  see  where  he  was  going  to  get  his  money. 
I  tried  to  make  him  see  it.  He  was  going  to  buy 
land.  I  urged  him  not  to.  I  felt  sure  that  what  he 
was  putting  into  those  cattle  he  was  going  to  lose." 

Roosevelt  admitted  that  spring  that  Sewall's 
conviction,  that  the  cows  would  not  be  able  in  the 
long  run  to  endure  the  hard  winters,  was  not  without 
reason.  "  Bill,"  he  said,  after  he  had  made  a  care- 
ful study  of  the  herd,  "  you're  right  about  those 
cows.  They're  not  looking  well,  and  I  think  some 
of  them  will  die." 


HIS  UPPER  LIP  IS  STIFF  397 

But  on  the  whole  the  herd  was  in  good  condition. 
He  had  every  right  to  beheve  that  with  average 
luck  his  investment  would  emphatically  justify 
itself. 

While  I  do  not  see  any  great  fortune  ahead  [he  wrote 
to  his  sister  Corinne],  yet,  if  things  go  on  as  they  are 
now  going,  and  have  gone  for  the  past  three  years,  I 
think  I  will  each  year  net  enough  money  to  pay  a  good 
interest  on  the  capital,  and  yet  be  adding  to  my  herd 
all  the  time.  I  think  I  have  more  than  my  original 
capital  on  the  ground,  and  this  year  I  ought  to  be  able 
to  sell  between  two  and  three  hundred  head  of  steer  and 
dry  stock. 

Sewall  as  usual,  was  less  sanguine. 

As  for  hard  times  [he  wrote  his  brother  that  April] 
they  are  howling  that  here,  and  lots  are  leaving  the  coun- 
try. Lots  more  would  if  they  could.  We  are  all  right. 
Roosevelt  is  the  same  good  fellow  he  always  has  been 
and  though  I  don't  think  he  expects  to  make  much,  his 
upper  lip  is  stiff  and  he  is  all  right. 

Meanwhile,  he  was  hammering  ahead  on  his  Life 
of  Benton.  He  was  a  slow  and  rather  laborious 
writer,  but  his  persistence  evidently  atoned  for  his 
lack  of  speed  in  composition,  for  whereas,  on  April 
29th,  he  wrote  his  sister  that  he  had  written  only 
one  chapter  and  intended  to  devote  "the  next  three 
weeks  to  getting  this  work  fairly  under  way,"  by 
the  7th  of  June  he  announced  that  the  book  was 
"  nearly  finished." 

"  Some  days,"  Sewall  related  afterward,  "  he 
would  write  all  day  long;  some  days  only  a  part  of 
the  day,  just  as  he  felt.   He  said  sometimes  he  would 


398       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

get  so  he  could  not  write.  Sometimes  he  could  not 
tell  when  a  thing  sounded  right.  Then  he  would 
take  his  gun  and  saunter  off,  sometimes  alone, 
sometimes  with  me  or  Dow,  if  he  was  around." 

Occasionally  he  would  '*  try  out  "  a  passage  on 
Sewall.  "  Bill,"  he  exclaimed  one  morning,  "  I  am 
going  to  commit  the  unpardonable  sin  and  make 
you  sit  down  and  listen  to  something  I've  written." 

Bill  was  willing.  The  passage  was  from  the  first 
chapter  of  the  biography  of  the  Tennessee  statesman 
and  dealt  with  the  attitude  of  the  frontier  toward 
law  and  order  and  the  rights  of  "  the  other  fellow." 
Bill  gave  his  approval  and  the  passage  stood. 

Day  after  day  Roosevelt  pushed  forward  into  his 
subject,  writing  with  zest,  tempered  by  cool  judg- 
ment. He  did  not  permit  an  occasional  trip  to 
Medora  to  interrupt  his  work.  He  had  a  room  over 
Joe  Ferris's  store,  and  after  Joe  and  his  wife  had 
gone  to  bed,  he  would  throw  open  the  doors  of  the 
kitchen  and  the  dining-room  and  walk  to  and  fro 
hammering  out  his  sentences. 

"  Every  once  in  a  while,"  said  Joe  later,  "  every- 
thing would  be  quiet,  then  after  fifteen  minutes 
or  so  he  would  walk  again  as  though  he  was  walkin' 
for  wages." 

Mrs.  Ferris,  who  had  a  maternal  regard  for  his 
welfare,  was  always  careful  to  see  that  a  pitcher 
of  milk  was  in  his  room  before  the  night's  labors 
commenced;  for  Roosevelt  had  a  way  of  working 
into  the  small  hours.  "  The  eight-hour  law,"  he 
remarked  to  Lodge,  "  does  not  apply  to  cowboys  "; 


COMPLETING  BENTON  399 

nor,  he  might  have  added,  to  writers  endeavoring 
to  raise  the  wherewithal  to  pay  for  a  hunting  trip 
to  the  Cocur  d'Alenes  in  the  autumn. 

I  wonder  if  your  friendship  will  stand  a  very  serious 
strain  [he  wrote  Lx)dge,  early  in  June].  I  have  pretty 
nearly  finished  Benton,  mainly  evolving  him  from  my 
inner  consciousness;  but  when  he  leaves  the  Senate  in 
1850  I  have  nothing  whatever  to  go  by;  and,  being  by 
nature  both  a  timid,  and,  on  occasions,  by  choice  a 
truthful,  man,  I  would  prefer  to  have  some  foundation  of 
fact,  no  matter  how  slender,  on  which  to  build  the  airy 
and  arabesque  superstructure  of  my  fancy  —  especially 
as  I  am  writing  a  history.  Now  I  hesitate  to  give  him  a 
wholly  fictitious  date  of  death  and  to  invent  all  of  the 
work  of  his  later  years.  Would  it  be  too  infernal  a 
nuisance  for  you  to  hire  some  of  your  minions  on  the 
Advertiser  (of  course,  at  my  expense)  to  look  up,  in  a 
biographical  dictionary  or  elsewhere,  his  life  after  he 
left  the  Senate  in  1850?  He  was  elected  once  to  Congress; 
who  beat  him  when  he  ran  the  second  time;  what  was 
the  issue;  who  beat  him,  and  why,  when  he  ran  for 
Governor  of  Missouri;  and  the  date  of  his  death?  I 
hate  to  trouble  you;  don't  do  it  if  it  is  any  bother;  but 
the  Bad  Lands  have  much  fewer  books  than  Boston  has. 

The  Executive  Committee  of  the  Montana  Stock- 
growers'  Association,  of  which  Roosevelt  was  a 
member,  had,  in  order  to  unify  the  work  of  the 
rounding-up  of  the  cattle  throughout  Montana  and 
western  Dakota,  issued  directions  at  its  meeting  in 
April  for  the  delimitation  of  the  various  round-up 
districts  and  the  opening  of  the  round-ups.  The 
round-up  for  "  District  No.  6,"  which  included  the 
valley  of  the  Little  Missouri, 


400       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

commences  [so  ran  the  order]  at  Medora,  May  25,  1886; 
works  down  the  Little  Missouri  to  the  mouth  of  Big 
Beaver  Creek;  thence  up  the  Big  Beaver  to  its  head; 
thence  across  to  the  Little  Beaver  at  the  crossing  of 
the  old  government  road  (Keogh  trail);  thence  down 
Little  Beaver  to  its  mouth ;  thence  across  to  Northern 
Hashknife  Camp  on  Little  Missouri,  and  down  to 
Medora.   John  Goodall,  foreman. 

Roosevelt  apparently  could  not  resist  the  tempta- 
tion w^hich  the  round-up  offered,  especially  as  its 
course  would  take  him  back  in  the  direction  of 
Elkhorn,  and  he  deserted  his  study  and  entered  once 
more  into  what  was  to  him  the  most  fascinating 
-activity  of  the  cowboy's  life. 

There  were  half  a  dozen  wagons  along  [he  wrote 
subsequently].  The  saddle  bands  numbered  about  a 
hundred  each;  and  the  morning  we  started,  sixty  men 
in  the  saddle  splashed  across  the  shallow  ford  of  the 
river  that  divided  the  plain  where  we  had  camped  from 
the  valley  of  the  long  winding  creek  up  which  we  were 
first  to  work. 

By  the  7th  of  June  he  was  back  at  Elkhorn  Ranch 
again  on  a  flying  visit. 

I  will  get  a  chance  to  send  this  note  to-morrow  [he 
wrote  his  sister  "  Bamie  "]  by  an  old  teamster  who  is 
going  to  town.  I  have  been  on  the  round-up  for  a  fort- 
night, and  really  enjoy  the  work  greatly;  in  fact  I  am 
having  a  most  pleasant  summer,  though  I  miss  all  of 
you  very,  very  much.  We  breakfast  at  three  and  work 
from  sixteen  to  eighteen  hours  a  day  counting  night- 
guard;  so  I  get  pretty  sleepy;  but  I  feel  as  strong  as  a 
bear.  I  took  along  Tolstoy's  "  La  Guerre  et  La  Paix  " 
which   Madame  de  Mores  had  lent  me;  but   I   have 


THE  SUMMER  OF  1886  401 

had  little  chance  to  read  it  as  yet.    I  am  very  fond  of 
Tolstoy. 

In  "  The  Wilderness  Hunter  "  Roosevelt,  two  or 
three  years  later,  told  of  that  "  very  pleasant  sum- 
mer "  of  1886. 

I  was  much  at  the  ranch,  where  I  had  a  good  deal  of 
writing  to  do ;  but  every  week  or  two  I  left,  to  ride  among 
the  line  camps,  or  spend  a  few  days  on  any  round-up 
\vhich  happened  to  be  in  the  neighborhood. 

These  days  of  vigorous  work  among  the  cattle  were 
themselves  full  of  pleasure.  At  dawn  we  were  in  the 
saddle,  the  morning  air  cool  in  our  faces;  the  red  sun- 
rise saw  us  loping  across  the  grassy  reaches  of  prairie 
land,  or  climbing  in  single  file  among  the  rugged  buttcs. 
All  forenoon  we  spent  riding  the  long  circle  with  the 
cowpunchers  of  the  round-up;  in  the  afternoon  we 
worked  the  herd,  cutting  the  cattle,  with  much  break- 
neck galloping  and  dextrous  halting  and  wheeling.  Then 
came  the  excitement  and  hard  labor  of  roping,  throwing, 
and  branding  the  wild  and  vigorous  range  calves;  in 
a  corral,  if  one  was  handy,  otherwise  in  a  ring  of  horse- 
men. Soon  after  nightfall  we  lay  down,  in  a  log  hut  or 
tent,  if  at  a  line  camp;  under  the  open  sky,  if  with  the 
round-up  wagon. 

After  ten  days  or  so  of  such  work,  in  which  every 
man  had  to  do  his  full  share,  —  for  laggards  and  idlers, 
no  matter  who,  get  no  mercy  in  the  real  and  healthy 
democracy  of  the  round-up,  —  I  would  go  back  to  the 
ranch  to  turn  to  my  books  with  added  zest  for  a  fort- 
night. Yet  even  during  these  weeks  at  the  ranch  there 
was  some  outdoor  work;  for  I  was  breaking  two  or  three 
colts.  I  took  my  time,  breaking  them  gradually  and 
gently,  not,  after  the  usual  cowboy  fashion,  in  a  hurry, 
by  sheer  main  strength  and  rough  riding,  with  the 
attendant  danger  to  the  limbs  of  the  man  and  very 


402        ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

probable  ruin  to  the  manners  of  the  horse.  We  rose 
early;  each  morning  I  stood  on  the  low-roofed  veranda, 
looking  out  under  the  line  of  murmuring,  glossy-leaved 
cottonwoods,  across  the  shallow  river,  to  see  the  sun 
flame  above  the  line  of  bluffs  opposite. 

Almost  every  day  he  was  off  among  the  buttes 
or  across  the  prairie  with  a  rifle  in  his  hand,  shooting 
now  a  whitetail  buck  within  a  few  hundred  yards 
of  the  ranch-house;  now  a  blacktail,  in  the  hills 
behind.  Occasionally,  rising  before  dawn,  he  would 
hunt  in  the  rolling  prairie  country  ten  or  fifteen 
miles  away,  coming  home  at  dusk  with  a  prong- 
buck  across  his  saddle-bow.  Now  and  then  he 
would  take  the  ranch-wagon  and  one  of  the  men, 
driving  to  some  good  hunting  ground,  and  spend- 
ing a  night  or  two,  returning  usually  with  two  or 
three  antelope;  and  not  infrequently  he  would  ride 
away  by  himself  on  horseback  for  a  couple  of  days, 
lying  at  night,  as  he  wrote,  "  under  the  shining  and 
brilliant  multitude  of  stars,"  and  rising  again  in 
the  chill  dawn  to  crawl  upon  some  wary  goat  of 
the  high  hills. 

After  writing  his  sister  on  the  7th  of  June,  he 
evidently  stayed  at  the  ranch  for  ten  days  to  work 
on  his  Life  of  Benton.  Then  he  was  away  with 
the  round-up  again.  His  diary  succinctly  records 
his  progress: 

June  18.   Rode  to  Medora  on  Sorrel  Joe. 

June  19.   Out  on  round-up  with  Maltese  Cross  wagon. 

June  20.  Worked  down  to  South  Heart. 

June  21.   Worked  up  Rocky  Ridge. 

June  22.  Worked  to  Davis  Creek. 


i 


INFLUENCE  OVER  COWBOYS  403 

Early  next  morning  Roosevelt  was  in  Medora. 

The  round-up  is  swinging  over  from  the  East  to  the 
West  Divide  [he  wrote  to  Lodge].  I  rode  in  to  get  my 
mail  and  must  leave  at  once.  We  are  working  pretty 
hard.  Yesterday  I  was  in  the  saddle  at  2  a.m.,  and  except 
for  two  very  hearty  meals,  after  each  of  which  I  took  a 
fresh  horse,  did  not  stop  working  till  8.15  P.M.;  and  was 
up  at  half-past  three  this  morning. 

They  worked  next  day  down  to  Andrews  Creek. 

While  the  round-up  was  camped  at  Andrews 
Creek  an  incident  occurred  which  revealed  Roose- 
velt's influence  over  the  cowpunchers,  not  alone  of 
his  own  "  outfit."  Andrews  Creek  was  not  more 
than  a  mile  from  Medora,  and  after  the  day's  work 
was  done,  the  cowboys  naturally  adjourned  with 
much  enthusiasm  to  that  oasis  for  the  thirsty.  As 
the  evening  wore  on,  the  men,  as  "  Dutch  Wan- 
nigan  "  remarked  long  afterward,  "  were  getting 
kinda  noisy."  Roosevelt,  who  had  also  ridden  to 
town,  possibly  to  keep  an  eye  on  "  the  boys,"  heard 
the  commotion,  and,  contrary  to  his  usual  habit, 
which  was  to  keep  out  of  such  centers  of  trouble, 
entered  the  saloon  where  the  revelry  was  in  progress. 

"  I  don't  know  if  he  took  a  drink  or  not,"  said 
"  Dutch  Wannigan "  afterward.  "  I  never  saw 
him  take  one.  But  he  came  in  and  he  paid  for  the 
drinks  for  the  crowd.  '  One  more  drink,  boys,'  he 
says.  Then,  as  soon  as  they  had  their  drinks,  he 
says,  '  Come  on,'  and  away  they  went.  He  just 
took  the  lead  and  they  followed  him  home.  By 
gollies,  I  never  seen  anything  like  it!  " 


404       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

The  round-up  now  worked  southward.  Roose- 
velt's diary  gives  its  course  from  day  to  day. 

June  24.   To  Gardiner  Creek. 
June  25.   To  Bullion's  Creek. 
June  26.    Down  Bullion's  Creek. 
June  2"].   To  Chimney  Butte. 
June  28.    Rode  in  to  Medora. 

From  Medora  he  wrote  his  sister  Corinne: 

I  have  been  off  on  the  round-up  for  five  weeks,  taking 
a  holiday  of  a  few  days  when  we  had  a  cold  snap,  during 
which  time  I  killed  two  elk  and  six  antelopes,  all  the 
meat  being  smoke-dried  and  now  hanging  round  the 
trees,  till  the  ranch  looks  like  an  Indian  encampment. 
Since  June  24th,  I  have  never  once  had  breakfast  as 
late  as  4  o'clock.  I  have  been  in  the  saddle  all  the  day 
and  work  like  a  beaver  and  am  as  happy  and  rugged  as 
possible. 

To  "  Bamie  "  he  wrote: 

If  I  did  not  miss  all  at  home  so  much,  and  also  my 
beautiful  home,  I  would  say  that  this  free,  open-air  life, 
without  any  worry,  was  perfection. 

The  round-up  ended  in  Medora,  where  it  had 
begun. 

You  would  hardly  know  my  sunburned  and  wind- 
roughened  face  [Roosevelt  wrote  "  Bamie  "].  But  I  have 
really  enjoyed  it  and  am  as  tough  as  a  hickory  nut. 

He  evidently  did  not  think  he  needed  any  vaca- 
tion after  the  strenuous  labors  of  the  preceding 
weeks,  for  his  diary  records  no  interlude. 

June  29.  Rode  back  to  Elkhorn  Ranch  with  Merri- 
field. 


A  BIG  DAY  405 

June  30.   Benton. 

July  I.  Benton;  rode  out  with  Bill  Rowe  to  get  and 
brand  calves. 

July  2.  Benton;  rode  out  with  Bill  Rowe  after 
calves;  got  them  into  corral  and  branded  them.  Rode 
little  black  horse. 

July  3.   Rode  up  to  Medora  on  Manitou. 

Roosevelt  had  been  invited  to  be  the  orator  at 
Dickinson's  first  celebration  of  Independence  Day, 
and,  on  the  morning  of  the  Fourth,  accompanied 
by  two  New  York  friends,  Lispenard  Stew^art  and 
Dr.  Taylor,  and  half  the  cowboys  of  Billings  County, 
"  jumped  "  an  east-bound  freight  for  the  scene  of 
the  festivities. 

Dickinson  was  in  holiday  mood.  The  West 
Missouri  slope  had  never  celebrated  the  Fourth 
with  fitting  ceremonies  before  and  Dickinson,  which, 
with  its  seven  hundred  inhabitants,  considered  it- 
self somewhat  of  a  metropolis,  made  up  its  mind  to 
"  spread  itself."  From  near  and  far  eager  crowds 
streamed  into  the  little  town,  on  foot  and  on  horse- 
back.  The  Press  reported  the  celebration  with  zest: 

A   BIG  DAY 


The  First  Fourth  of  July  Celebration 
in  Dickinson  a  Grand  Success 


An  Epoch  in  the  History  of  Our  Town 
that  Will  Long  be  Remembered 


Addresses  by  Hon.  Theodore  Roosevelt 
and  Hon.  John  A.  Rea 


406       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

The  first  Fourth  of  July  celebration,  attempted  in 
Dickinson,  took  place  last  Monday.  It  exceeded  the 
anticipations  of  all  and  proved  to  be  a  grand  success  — 
a  day  that  will  long  be  remembered.  The  day  dawned 
bright  and  cool.  Early  in  the  morning  people  began  to 
arrive  and  by  ten  o'clock  the  largest  crowd  ever  as- 
sembled in  Stark  County  lined  the  principal  streets. 
The  train  from  the  west  brought  a  number  of  Medora 
people,  amongst  them  Hon.  Theodore  Roosevelt,  the 
orator  of  the  day. 

The  first  exercise  was  the  parade,  consisting  of  three 
divisions,  under  charge  of  Chief  Marshal  Auld,  assisted 
by  C.  S.  Langdon  and  Western  Starr.  About  ten  o'clock 
everything  was  in  readiness  and  the  parade  began  to 
move,  headed  by  the  Dickinson  Silver  Cornet  Band. 
Following  the  band  were  the  lady  equestriennes,  a  large 
number  of  ladies  being  in  line.  They  were  followed  by 
the  members  of  Fort  Sumter  Post  G.A.R.  and  Onward 
Lodge  R.R.B.  Next  came  a  beautifully  decorated 
wagon  drawn  by  four  white  horses,  containing  little 
girls  dressed  in  white,  representing  the  States  of  the 
Union.  This  was  one  of  the  most  attractive  features  of 
the  parade,  and  was  followed  by  a  display  of  reaping 
and  other  farm  machinery.  The  "  Invincibles "  were 
next  in  line  and  created  considerable  mirth  by  their  fan- 
tastic and  grotesque  appearance.  Citizens  in  carriages 
and  on  horseback  brought  up  the  rear.  After  parading 
through  the  principal  streets  the  procession  marched  to 
the  public  square  and  were  dismissed. 

"The  trouble  with  the  parade,"  remarked  Bill 
Dantz  long  after,  "was  that  every  one  in  town  was 
so  enthusiastic  they  insisted  on  joining  the  proces- 
sion, and  there  was  no  one  to  watch  except  two 
men  who  were  too  drunk  to  notice  anything  " ;  which 
was  Dantz's  way  of  saying  that  the  "first  exercise" 
was  eminently  successful. 


ORATORY  407 

Western  Starr  [continues  the  Press]  was  introduced  by 
Dr.  V.  H,  Stickney,  master  of  ceremonies,  and  read  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  in  a  clear,  forcible  tone, 
after  which  the  entire  audience  joined  in  singing  that  fa- 
miliar and  patriotic  song,  "  America."  The  people  then 
partook  of  the  free  dinner  prepared  for  the  occasion. 
After  dinner  the  people  were  called  to  order  and  Rev. 
E.  C.  Dayton  offered  up  a  prayer,  followed  by  music  by 
the  band. 

The  speeches  followed.  The  first  speaker  was  a 
typical  politician  of  the  old  school. 

This  is  a  big  country  [he  said].  At  a  dinner  party 
of  Americans  in  Paris  during  the  Civil  War  this  toast 
was  offered  by  a  New  Englander:  '*  Here's  to  the  United 
States,  bounded  on  the  north  by  British  America,  on  the 
south  by  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  on  the  east  by  the  Atlantic, 
and  on  the  west  by  the  Pacific  Ocean'' 

An  Ohio  man  followed  with  a  larger  notion  of  our 
greatness:  "  Here's  to  the  United  States,  bounded  on  the 
north  by  the  North  Pole,  on  the  south  by  the  South  Pole, 
on  the  east  by  the  rising  sun,  and  on  the  west  by  the  setting 
sun." 

It  took  the  Dakota  man,  however,  to  rise  to  the  great- 
ness of  the  subject:  "  /  give  you  the  United  States, 
bounded  on  the  north  by  the  Aurora  Borealis,  on  the 
south  by  the  precession  of  the  equinoxes,  on  the  east  by 
primeval  chaos,  and  on  the  west  by  the  Day  of  Judgment." 

The  politician  proceeded  with  the  eloquence  of  the 
professional  "orator,"  and  the  audience  applauded 
him  vociferously.  Then  Roosevelt  rose  and  spoke. 
He  looked  very  slim  and  young  and  embarrassed. 

I  am  peculiarly  glad  [he  said]  to  have  an  opportunity 
of  addressing  you,  my  fellow  citizens  of  Dakota,  on  the 


4o8       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Fourth  of  July,  because  it  always  seems  to  me  that  those 
who  dwell  in  a  new  territory,  and  whose  actions,  there- 
fore, are  peculiarly  fruitful,  for  good  and  for  bad  alike, 
in  shaping  the  future,  have  in  consequence  peculiar 
responsibilities.  You  have  already  been  told,  very 
truthfully  and  effectively,  of  the  great  gifts  and  bless- 
ings you  enjoy;  and  we  all  of  us  feel,  most  rightly  and 
properly,  that  we  belong  to  the  greatest  nation  that 
has  ever  existed  on  this  earth  —  a  feeling  I  like  to  see, 
for  I  wish  every  American  always  to  keep  the  most 
intense  pride  in  his  country,  and  people.  But  as  you 
already  know  your  rights  and  privileges  so  well,  I  am 
going  to  ask  you  to  excuse  me  if  I  say  a  few  words  to  you 
about  your  duties.  Much  has  been  given  to  us,  and  so, 
much  will  be  expected  of  us;  and  we  must  take  heed  to 
use  aright  the  gifts  entrusted  to  our  care. 

The  Declaration  of  Independence  derived  its  peculiar 
importance,  not  on  account  of  what  America  was,  but 
because  of  what  she  was  to  become;  she  shared  with 
other  nations  the  present,  and  she  yielded  to  them  the 
past,  but  it  was  felt  in  return  that  to  her,  and  to  her 
especially,  belonged  the  future.  It  is  the  same  with  us 
here.  We,  grangers  and  cowboys  alike,  have  opened  a 
new  land ;  and  we  are  the  pioneers,  and  as  we  shape  the 
course  of  the  stream  near  its  head,  our  efforts  have  in- 
finitely more  effect,  in  bending  it  in  any  given  direction, 
than  they  would  have  if  they  were  made  farther  along. 
In  other  words,  the  first  comers  in  a  land  can,  by  their 
individual  efforts,  do  far  more  to  channel  out  the  course 
in  which  its  history  is  to  run  than  can  those  who  come 
after  them;  and  their  labors,  whether  exercised  on  the 
side  of  evil  or  on  the  side  of  good,  are  far  more  effective 
than  if  they  had  remained  in  old  settled  communities. 

So  it  is  peculiarly  incumbent  on  us  here  to-day  so  to  act 
throughout  our  lives  as  to  leave  our  children  a  heritage,  for 
which  we  will  receive  their  blessing  and  not  their  curse, 


ROOSEVELT  ON  AMERICANISM         409 

Stickney,  sitting  on  the  platform  as  presiding 
officer,  was  struck  by  the  contrast  which  Roosevelt 
offered  to  the  man  who  had  preceded  him.  The 
first  speaker  had  been  "  eloquent  "  in  the  accepted 
meaning  of  the  word;  Roosevelt  was  not  consciously 
eloquent  at  all.  He  talked  as  he  always  talked, 
simply,  directly,  earnestly,  emphatically. 

We  have  rights  [he  went  on],  but  we  have  correlative 
duties;  none  can  escape  them.  We  only  have  the  right 
to  li\'e  on  as  free  men,  governing  our  own  lives  as  we  will, 
so  long  as  we  show  ourselves  worthy  of  the  pri\uleges  we 
enjoy.  We  must  remember  that  the  Republic  can  only 
be  kept  pure  by  the  individual  purity  of  its  members; 
and  that  if  it  become  once  thoroughly  corrupted,  it  will 
surely  cease  to  exist.  In  our  body  politic,  each  man  is 
himself  a  constituent  portion  of  the  sovereign,  and  if  the 
sovereign  is  to  continue  in  power,  he  must  continue  to  do 
right.  When  you  here  exercise  your  privileges  at  the 
ballot  box,  you  are  not  only  exercising  a  right,  but  you 
are  also  fulfilling  a  duty;  and  a  heavy  responsibility 
rests  on  you  to  fulfill  your  duty  well.  If  you  fail  to  work 
in  public  life,  as  well  as  in  private,  for  honesty  and 
uprightness  and  virtue,  if  you  condone  vice  because  the 
vicious  man  is  smart,  or  if  you  in  any  other  way  cast 
your  weight  into  the  scales  in  favor  of  evil,  you  are  just 
so  far  corrupting  and  making  less  \aluable  the  birthright 
of  your  children.  The  duties  of  American  citizenship 
are  very  solemn  as  well  as  very  precious;  and  each  one 
of  us  here  to-day  owes  it  to  himself,  to  his  children,  and 
to  all  his  fellow  Americans,  to  show  that  he  is  capable  of 
performing  them  in  the  right  spirit. 

1 1  is  not  what  we  have  that  will  make  us  a  great  nation ; 
it  is  the  way  in  which  we  use  it. 

I   do   not   undervalue   for    a  moment  our   material 


410       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

prosperity;  like  all  Americans,  I  like  big  things;  big 
prairies,  big  forests  and  mountains,  big  wheat-fields, 
railroads,  —  and  herds  of  cattle,  too,  —  big  factories, 
steamboats,  and  everything  else.  But  we  must  keep 
steadily  in  mind  that  no  people  were  ever  yet  benefited 
by  riches  if  their  prosperity  corrupted  their  virtue.  It 
is  of  more  importance  that  we  should  show  ourselves 
honest,  brave,  truthful,  and  intelligent,  than  that  we 
should  own  all  the  railways  and  grain  elevators  in  the 
world.  We  have  fallen  heirs  to  the  most  glorious  heritage 
a  people  ever  received,  and  each  one  must  do  his  part  if 
we  wish  to  show  that  the  nation  is  worthy  of  its  good 
fortune.  Here  we  are  not  ruled  over  by  others,  as  in 
the  case  of  Europe;  we  rule  ourselves.  All  American 
citizens,  whether  born  here  or  elsewhere,  whether  of 
one  creed  or  another,  stand  on  the  same  footing;  we 
welcome  every  honest  immigrant  no  matter  from  what 
country  he  comes,  provided  only  that  he  leaves  ofi^  his 
former  nationality,  and  remains  neither  Celt  nor  Saxon, 
neither  Frenchman  nor  German,  but  becomes  an  Amer- 
ican, desirous  of  fulfilling  in  good  faith  the  duties  of 
American  citizenship. 

When  we  thus  rule  ourselves,  we  have  the  responsi- 
bilities of  sovereigns,  not  of  subjects.  We  must  never 
exercise  our  rights  either  wickedly  or  thoughtlessly; 
we  can  continue  to  preserve  them  in  but  one  possible 
way,  by  making  the  proper  use  of  them.  In  a  new  portion 
of  the  country,  especially  here  in  the  Far  West,  it  is 
peculiarly  important  to  do  so;  and  on  this  day  of  all 
others  we  ought  soberly  to  realize  the  weight  of  the 
responsibility  that  rests  upon  us.  I  am,  myself,  at  heart 
as  much  a  Westerner  as  an  Easterner;  I  am  proud, 
indeed,  to  be  considered  one  of  yourselves,  and  I  address 
you  in  this  rather  solemn  strain  to-day,  only  because  of 
my  pride  in  you,  and  because  your  welfare,  moral  as 
well  as  material,  is  so  near  my  heart. 


YOU  WILL  BE  PRESIDENT  411 

It  was  a  hilarious  party  of  cowpunchers  who  took 
the  afternoon  train  back  to  IMedora.  For  a  part 
of  the  brief  journey  Packard  sat  with  Roosevelt 
discussing  his  speech. 

"  It  was  during  this  talk,"  said  Packard  after- 
ward, "  that  I  first  realized  the  potential  bigness  of 
the  man.  One  could  not  help  believing  he  was  in 
deadly  earnest  in  his  consecration  to  the  highest 
ideals  of  citizenship.  He  had  already  made  his 
mark  in  the  New  York  Legislature.  He  was  known 
as  a  fighter  who  dared  to  come  out  in  the  open  and 
depend  upon  the  backing  of  public  opinion.  He  was 
reputed  to  be  wealthy  enough  to  devote  his  life  to 
any  work  he  chose,  and  I  learned,  on  the  return 
journey  to  the  Bad  Lands  that  day,  that  he  believed 
he  could  do  better  work  in  a  public  and  political 
way  than  in  any  other.  My  conclusion  was  im- 
mediate, and  I  said,  '  Then  you  will  become  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States.' 

"  One  would  suppose  that  I  could  remember  the 
actual  words  he  used  in  reply,  but  I  cannot.  I 
remember  distinctly  that  he  was  not  in  the  least 
surprised  at  my  statement.  He  gave  me  the  im- 
pression of  having  thoroughly  considered  the  matter 
and  to  have  arrived  at  the  same  conclusion  that  I 
had  arrived  at.  I  remember  only  this  of  what  he 
said,  '  If  your  prophecy  comes  true,  I  will  do  my 
part  to  make  a  good  one.'  " 


XXIV 

The  road  is  wide  and  the  stars  are  out,  and  the  breath  of  night  is  sweet. 
And  this  is  the  time  when  wanderlust  should  seize  upon  my  feet, 
But  I'm  glad  to  turn  from  the  open  road  and  the  starlight  on  my  face. 
And  leave  the  splendor  of  out-of-doors  for  a  human  dwelling-place. 

Joyce  Kilmer 

A  FEW  days  after  the  celebration  in  Dickinson, 
Roosevelt  went  East.  The  political  sirens  were 
calling.  He  was  restless  for  something  to  do  that 
would  bring  into  service  the  giant's  strength  of 
which  he  was  becoming  increasingly  conscious,  and, 
incidentally,  would  give  him  an  opportunity  to 
win  distinction.  He  had  been  half  inclined  to  ac- 
cept an  offer  from  Mayor  Grace  of  New  York  to 
head  the  Board  of  Health,  but  Lodge,  as  Roosevelt 
wrote  to  his  sister  Corinne,  thought  it  "  infra  dig,'' 
and  he  reluctantly  rejected  it.  There  were  rumors 
in  the  air  that  he  might  have  the  Republican 
nomination  for  Mayor  of  New  York  if  he  wanted  it. 
He  went  East,  possibly  for  the  purpose  of  investi- 
gating them,  returning  to  Elkhorn  early  in  August. 
Roosevelt  was  unquestionably  restless.  He  loved 
the  wild  country,  but  he  had  tasted  all  the  various 
joys  and  hardships  it  had  to  offer,  and,  although 
he  said  again  and  again  that  if  he  had  no  ties  of 
affection  and  of  business  to  bind  him  to  the  East, 
he  would  make  Dakota  his  permanent  residence, 
down  in  his  heart  he  was  hungering  for  a  wider 
field  of  action.   The  frontier  had  been  a  challenge 


A  TROOP  OF  ROUGH  RIDERS  413 

to  his  manhood;  now  that  he  had  stood  every  test 
it  had  presented  to  him,  its  glamour  faded  and  he 
looked  about  for  a  sharper  challenge  and  more  ex- 
acting labors. 

For  a  few  weeks  that  August  he  half  hoped  that 
he  might  find  them  on  the  field  of  battle.  Sev- 
eral American  citizens,  among  them  a  man  named 
Cutting,  had  been  arrested  in  Mexico,  apparently 
illegally,  and  Bayard,  who  was  President  Cleve- 
land's Secretary  of  State,  had  been  forced  more 
than  once  to  make  vigorous  protests.  Relations 
became  strained.  The  anti-Mexican  feeling  on  the 
border  spread  over  the  whole  of  Texas,  regiments 
were  organized,  and  the  whole  unsettled  region 
between  the  Missouri  and  the  Rockies,  which  was 
inclined  to  look  upon  Mexico  as  the  natural  next 
morsel  in  the  fulfillment  of  the  nation's  "  manifest 
destiny,"  began  to  dream  of  war. 

Roosevelt,  seeing  how  matters  were  tending,  set 
about  to  organize  a  troop  of  cavalry  in  the  Bad 
Lands.  He  notified  the  Secretary  of  War  that  it 
stood  at  the  service  of  the  Government. 

I  have  written  to  Secretary  Endicott  [Roosevelt 
wrote  to  Lodge  on  August  loth],  offering  to  try  to  raise 
some  companies  of  horse-riflemen  out  here,  in  the  event 
of  trouble  with  Mexico.  Won't  you  telegraph  me  at 
once  if  war  becomes  inevitable?  Out  here  things  are  so 
much  behindhand  that  I  might  not  hear  of  things  for 
a  week.  I  have  not  the  least  idea  there  will  be  any 
trouble,  but  as  my  chances  of  doing  anything  in  the  future 
worth  doing  seem  to  grow  continually  smaller,  I  intend 
to  grasp  at  every  opportunity  that  turns  up. 


414       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

The  cowboys  were  all  eager  for  war,  not  caring 
much  with  whom.   They  were  fond  of  adventure  and 

to  tell  the  truth  [as  Roosevelt  wrote  later],  they  were  by 
no  means  averse  to  the  prospect  of  plunder.  News  from 
the  outside  world  came  to  us  very  irregularly,  and  often 
in  distorted  form,  so  that  we  began  to  think  we  might 
get  involved  in  a  conflict  not  only  with  Mexico,  but  with 
England  also.  One  evening  at  my  ranch  the  men  began 
talking  over  English  soldiers,  so  I  got  down  "  Napier  " 
and  read  them  several  extracts  from  his  descriptions  of 
the  fighting  in  the  Spanish  peninsula,  also  recounting  as 
well  as  I  could  the  great  deeds  of  the  British  cavalry  from 
Waterloo  to  Balaklava,  and  finishing  up  by  describ- 
ing from  memory  the  fine  appearance,  the  magnificent 
equipment,  and  the  superb  horses  of  the  Household 
Cavalry  and  of  a  regiment  of  hussars  I  had  once  seen. 

All  of  this  produced  much  the  same  effect  on  my 
listeners  that  the  sight  of  Marmion's  cavalcade  produced 
in  the  minds  of  the  Scotch  moss-troopers  on  the  eve  of 
Flodden;  and  at  the  end,  one  of  them,  who  had  been 
looking  into  the  fire  and  rubbing  his  hands  together,  said, 
with  regretful  emphasis,  **  Oh,  how  I  would  like  to  kill 
one  of  them!  " 

Roosevelt  went  to  Bismarck  and  found  the 
Territorial  Governor  friendly  to  his  project. 

Hon.  Theodore  Roosevelt,  of  New  York,  the  famous 
statesman,  ranchman,  and  hunter  [runs  the  story  in 
the  Bismarck  Tribune],  has  been  making  inquiries  since 
the  announcement  of  the  Mexican  difficulties  as  to  the 
available  volunteer  troops  in  the  Northwest,  and  in 
the  event  of  action  being  required,  it  is  confidently  be- 
lieved Mr.  Roosevelt  would  tender  to  the  Government 
the  services  of  an  entire  regiment  of  cowboys,  under  his 
command.  At  a  recent  visit  here  he  was  assured  of  two 


PREMONITIONS  OF  TROUBLE  415 

companies  of  Dakota  cowboys  to  accompany  him.  Mr. 
Roosevelt  has  been  the  captain  of  a  company  of  militia 
in  New  York,  and  no  better  man  could  be  found  to  lead 
the  daring  cowboys  to  a  seat  of  war  and  no  commander 
would  have  more  effective  troops. 

The  war  cloud  blew  over.  Roosevelt  evidently 
received  a  letter  from  Lodge  explaining  that  the 
Mexican  incident  was  of  a  trivial  nature,  for,  on 
the  20th  of  August,  he  wrote  him  rather  apolo- 
getically : 

I  wrote  as  regards  Mexico  qua  cowboy,  not  qua 
statesman;  I  know  little  of  the  question,  but  conclude 
Bayard  is  wrong,  for  otherwise  it  would  be  phenomenal ; 
he  ought  to  be  idolized  by  the  mugwumps.  If  a  war  had 
come  off,  I  would  surely  have  had  behind  me  as  utterly 
reckless  a  set  of  desperadoes  as  ever  sat  in  the  saddle. 

It  is  no  use  saying  that  I  would  like  a  chance  at  some- 
thing I  thought  I  could  really  do;  at  present  I  see 
nothing  whatever  ahead.  However,  there  is  the  hunting 
in  the  fall,  at  any  rate. 

The  season  which  began  with  Finnegan  and 
Company  was  richer  in  varied  experiences  than  it 
was  in  financial  returns.  Roosevelt  recognized  that 
there  were  already  too  many  cattlemen  in  the 
business  to  make  large  profits  possible. 

In  certain  sections  of  the  West  [he  told  a  reporter  of 
the  Mandan  Pioneer  in  July]  the  losses  this  year  are 
enormous,  owing  to  the  drought  and  over-stocking. 
Each  steer  needs  from  fifteen  to  twenty-five  acres,  but 
they  are  crowded  on  very  much  thicker,  and  the  cattle- 
men this  season  have  paid  the  penalty.  Between  the 
drought,  the  grasshoppers,  and  the  late  frosts,  ice  form- 


4i6       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

ing  as  late  as  June  loth,  there  is  not  a  green  thing  in  all 
the  region  I  have  been  over.  A  stranger  would  think  a 
donkey  could  not  live  there.  The  drought  has  been  very 
bad  throughout  the  region,  and  there  is  not  a  garden 
in  all  of  it. 

Sewall  was  aware  of  that  fact  to  his  sorrow,  for 
the  garden  he  himself  had  planted  and  tended  with 
infinite  care  had  died  between  dawn  and  dusk  on 
that  memorable  Fourth  of  July  on  which  Roosevelt 
addressed  the  citizens  of  Dickinson. 

They  say  dry  years  are  best  for  cattle  [he  wrote  his 
brother].  If  so,  this  must  be  a  nice  one  and  they  do  seem 
to  be  doing  well  so  far,  but  if  we  have  much  snow  next 
winter  it  looks  to  me  as  if  they  would  have  short  picking. 

The  prospect  was  not  engaging.  But,  though 
Roosevelt  was  not  getting  much  financial  return 
on  his  rather  generous  investment,  he  was  getting 
other  things,  for  him  at  this  time  of  far  greater 
value.  He  who  had  been  weak  in  body  and  subject 
to  racking  illnesses  had  in  these  three  years  devel- 
oped a  constitution  as  tough  and  robust  as  an 
Indian's.  He  had  achieved  something  beside  this. 
Living,  talking,  working,  facing  danger,  and  suffer- 
ing hardships  with  the  Sewalls  and  the  Dows,  the 
Ferrises  and  the  Langs,  and  Merrifield  and  Packard 
and  Bill  Dantz  and  Hell-Roaring  Bill  Jones,  and 
countless  other  stalwart  citizens  of  the  Bad  Lands, 
he  had  come  very  close  to  the  heart  of  the  "  plain 
American."  He  loved  the  companions  of  his  joys 
and  labors,  and  they  in  turn  regarded  him  with 
an  admiration  and    devotion  which    was    all    th^ 

\ 


THE  HOLD-UP  417/ 

deeper  because  of  the  amazing  fact  that  he  had 
come  from  the  ranks  of  the  "  dudes." 

They  admired  him  for  his  courage  and  his  feats 
of  endurance,  but,  being  tender-hearted  themselves, 
they  loved  him  for  his  tenderness,  which  had  a  way 
that  they  approved,  of  expressing  itself,  not  in  words, 
but  in  deeds.  Bill  Sewall  had  a  little  girl  of  three, 
"  a  forlorn  little  mite,"  as  Roosevelt  described  her 
to  "  Bamie,"  and  it  was  Roosevelt  who  sent  the 
word  East  which  transported  the  child,  that  had 
neither  playmates  nor  toys,  into  a  heaven  of  delight 
with  picture  blocks  and  letter  blocks,  a  little  horse 
and  a  rag  doll. 

His  warm  human  sympathy  found  expression 
in  a  dramatic  manner  a  day  or  two  before  his 
departure  late  that  August  for  the  Coeur  d'Alenes. 
He  was  rounding  up  some  cattle  with  his  men  near 
Sentinel  Butte,  twenty  miles  west  of  Medora,  when 
word  came  that  a  cowpuncher  named  George 
Frazier  had  been  struck  by  lightning  and  killed, 
and  that  his  body  had  been  taken  to  Medora. 
Frazier  belonged  to  the  "  outfit  "  of  the  Marquis 
de  Mores,  but  he  had  worked  for  Roosevelt  twT 
years  previous,  digging  post-holes  with  George 
Myers  in  June,  1884.  Roosevelt  knew  that  the 
man  had  no  relatives  in  that  part  of  the  world,  to 
see  that  a  fitting  disposition  of  the  body  was  made, 
and  instantly  expressed  his  determination  to  take 
charge  of  the  arrangements  for  the  funeral. 

"  We  will  flag  the  next  train  and  go  to  Medora," 
he  said. 


4i8       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

The  next  train,  they  knew,  was  "  No.  2,"  the 
finest  train  running  over  the  road.  It  did  not,  on 
the  surface,  look  probable  that  it  would  stop  at  a 
desolate  spot  in  the  prairie  to  permit  a  handful  of 
cowboys  to  get  on.  "  They  won't  stop  here  for 
nuthin',"  one  of  the  men  insisted.  "  By  Godfrey, 
they'll  have  to  stop!  "  Roosevelt  retorted,  and  sent 
a  man  down  to  the  track  to  flag  the  train. 

The  engineer  saw  the  warning  signal  and  slowed 
down,  but  did  not  stop.  The  cowboys  dashed  along- 
side the  engine,  firing  shots  in  the  air.  The  engineer, 
believing  that  he  was  being  held  up  by  bandits  and 
that  the  next  shot  might  be  aimed  at  himself, 
brought  the  train  to  a  standstill.  There  was  a  wild 
scramble  among  the  passengers ;  even  the  train  crew 
expected  the  worst.  Valuables  were  hurriedly  se- 
creted. "  I  don't  believe,"  remarked  George  Myers 
afterward,  "  some  of  the  passengers  ever  did  find 
all  the  things  that  was  hid  away." 

Leaving  their  horses  in  charge  of  one  of  the  cow- 
boys, Roosevelt,  followed  by  Sylvane  Ferris,  Merri- 
field,  Myers,  and  Johnny  Goodall,  boarded  the  train. 
The  conductor  was  resigned  by  this  time  to  a  hold- 
up; but  when  he  discovered  the  actual  nature  of 
their  mission,  he  flew  into  a  rage  and  threatened  to 
put  them  all  off. 

"  You  be  good,"  cried  Roosevelt,  "  or  you'll  be 
the  one  to  get  off!  "  His  vigorous  advice  was 
supplemented  by  impressive  injunctions  from  other 
members  of  the  party.  When  they  finally  did  get 
off,  it  was  at  Medora. 


THE  CCEUR  D'ALENES  419 

A  salvo  of  profanity  from  the  train  crew  followed 
them.  "You'll  hear  from  this!"  thundered  the 
conductor.  They  did  not  hear  from  it.  It  would 
not  have  greatly  disturbed  Roosevelt  if  they  had. 
He  opened  a  subscription  to  cover  the  expenses  of 
the  funeral.  Everybody  "  chipped  in,"  and  the 
unfortunate  received  the  burial  that  a  God-fearing 
cowpuncher  deserved. 

Roosevelt  went  with  Merrifield  west  to  the  Cocur 
d'Alenes,  in  northern  Idaho,  almost  immediately 
after  Frazier's  funeral.  He  was  to  meet  a  hunter 
named  John  Willis,  who  was  to  take  him  and 
Merrifield  out  after  white  goat.  He  had  never  met 
Willis,  but  his  correspondence  with  him  had  sug- 
gested possibilities  of  interest  beside  the  chase. 
Roosevelt  had  written  Willis  in  July  that  he  had 
heard  of  his  success  in  pursuit  of  the  game  of  the 
high  peaks.  "  If  I  come  out,"  he  concluded,  "  do 
you  think  it  will  be  possible  for  me  to  get  a  goat?  " 

The  answer  he  received  was  written  on  the  back 
of  his  own  letter  and  was  quite  to  the  point.  "  If 
you  can't  shoot  any  better  than  you  can  write,  I 
don't  think  it  will  be." 

Roosevelt's  reply  came  by  wire.  "  Consider  your- 
self engaged." 

It  would  have  been  strange  if,  after  this  epistolary 
exchange,  the  two  men  should  not  have  been  rather 
curious  about  each  other's  personalities.  Roosevelt, 
descending  from  the  train  at  a  way-station  in  the 
mountains,  found  a  huge,  broad-shouldered  man  his 
own  age,  waiting  for  him.    The  man  was  not  over- 


420       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

cordial.  He  did  not,  he  later  admitted,  regard 
Roosevelt's  corduroy  knee-pants  with  favor, 

Roosevelt,  knowing  how  to  catch  a  hunter,  showed 
Willis  his  guns.  "Will  you  go  on  a  trip  with  me.^  " 
he  asked. 

"  I  am  going  to  start  out  day  after  to-morrow  for 
a  three  or  four  weeks'  hunt,"  Willis  answered.  "  If 
you  want  to  go  along  as  my  guest,  you  are  welcome 
to.  But  I  want  to  tell  you  before  we  go,  I  won't 
take  any  booze." 

"  Why  do  you  say  that?  "  asked  Roosevelt, 
thoroughly  interested  in  this  strange  creature. 

"  Why,  I've  an  idea  you  are  some  brewer's  son 
who's  made  a  lot  of  money.  You  look  as  if  you'd 
been  raised  on  beer." 

Roosevelt  roared  with  delight.  "  I  want  to  make 
a  contract  with  you,"  he  said.  "  I  will  give  you 
twenty-five  dollars  for  everything  that  you  show  me 
in  the  way  of  game." 

"  I  don't  want  it,"  said  Willis  gruffly. 

"  Then  I  will  buy  the  grub." 

"  All  the  grub  I'll  take  along  won't  amount  to 
more  than  three  or  four  dollars  —  a  hundred  pounds 
of  flour,  twenty-five  pounds  of  bacon,  dried  apples, 
and  black  tea.   That's  all  you'll  get." 

"  By  George,"  cried  Roosevelt,  "  that's  fine!  " 

"  You  can't  stand  a  trip  like  this,"  Willis  re- 
marked with  deadly  frankness. 

"  You  take  me  on  the  trip  and  I'll  show  you.  I 
can  train  myself  to  walk  as  far  as  you  can." 

Willis  doubted  it  and  said  so. 


HUNTING  WHITE  GOATS  421 

They  camped  far  up  in  the  mountains,  hunting 
day  after  day  through  the  deep  woods  just  below 
the  timber-Hne.  Roosevelt  and  Mcrrifield  were  ac- 
customed to  life  in  the  saddle,  and  although  they 
had  varied  it  with  an  occasional  long  walk  after 
deer  or  sheep,  they  were  quite  unable  to  cope  with 
Willis  when  it  came  to  mountaineering.  The  climb- 
ing was  hard,  the  footing  was  treacherous,  and  the 
sharp  rocks  tore  their  moccasins  into  ribbons. 
There  was  endless  underbrush,  thickets  of  prickly 
balsam  or  laurel  —  but  there  were  no  goats. 

At  last,  one  mid-afternoon,  as  he  was  supporting 
himself  against  a  tree,  halfway  across  a  long  land- 
slide, Roosevelt  suddenly  discovered  one  of  the 
beasts  he  was  after,  a  short  distance  away,  making 
his  way  down  a  hill,  looking  for  all  the  world  like 
a  handsome  tame  billy.  He  was  in  a  bad  position 
for  a  shot,  and  as  he  twisted  himself  about  he  dis- 
lodged some  pebbles.  The  goat,  instantly  alert, 
fled.  Roosevelt  fired,  but  the  shot  went  low,  only 
breaking  a  fore-leg. 

The  three  men  raced  and  scrambled  after  the 
fleeing  animal.  It  leaped  along  the  hillside  for 
nearly  a  mile,  then  turned  straight  up  the  mountain. 
They  followed  the  bloody  trail  where  it  went  up 
the  sharpest  and  steepest  places,  skirting  the  cliffs 
and  precipices. 

Roosevelt,  intent  on  the  quarry,  was  not  what 
Bill  Sewall  would  have  called  "  over-cautious " 
in  the  pursuit. 

He  was  running  along  a  shelving  ledge  when  a 


422       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

piece  of  loose  slate  with  which  the  ledge  was  covered 
slipped  under  his  foot.  He  clutched  at  the  rock 
wall,  he  tried  to  fling  himself  back,  but  he  could 
not  recover  himself. 

He  went  head  first  over  the  precipice. 

Roosevelt's  luck  was  with  him  that  day.  He  fell 
forty  or  fifty  feet  into  a  tall  pine,  bounced  through 
it,  and  landed  finally,  not  uncomfortably,  in  a  thick 
balsam,  somewhat  shaken  and  scratched,  but  with 
no  bones  broken  and  with  his  rifle  still  clutched 
in  his  hand. 

From  above  came  the  hoarse  voice  of  John 
Willis.    "  Are  you  hurt?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  answered  Roosevelt,  a  trifle  breathless. 

"  Then  come  on!  " 

Roosevelt  "  came  on,"  scrambling  back  up  the 
steep  height  he  had  so  swiftly  descended,  and  raced 
after  the  guide.  He  came  upon  the  goat  at  last,  but 
winded  as  he  was,  and  with  the  sweat  in  his  eyes, 
he  shot  too  high,  cutting  the  skin  above  the  spine. 
The  goat  plunged  downhill  and  the  hunters  plunged 
after  him,  pursuing  the  elusive  animal  until  darkness 
covered  the  trail. 

"  Now,"  said  Willis,  "  I  expect  you  are  getting 
tired." 

"  By  George,"  said  Roosevelt,  "  how  far  have 
we  gone?  " 

"  About  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  up  and  down  the 
mountains." 

"  If  we  get  that  goat  to-morrow,  I  will  give  you 
a  hundred  dollars."  , 


JOHN  WILLIS  423 

"  I  don't  want  a  hundred  dollars.  But  we'll 
get  the  goat." 

Roosevelt  brought  him  down  the  next  day  at 
noon. 

Roosevelt  spent  two  weeks  with  Willis  in  the 
mountains.  It  was  a  rich  experience  for  the  East- 
erner, but  for  the  tall  Missourian  it  proved  to  be 
even  more.  Willis  was  a  child  of  the  frontier,  who 
had  knocked  about  between  the  Rio  Grande  and 
the  Canadian  border  ever  since  his  boyhood,  do- 
ing a  hundred  different  things  upon  which  the  law 
and  civilized  men  were  supposed  to  look  with  dis- 
approval.^ 

To  this  odd  child  of  nature,  bred  in  the  wilderness, 
Roosevelt  opened  the  door  to  a  world  which  John 
Willis  did  not  know  existed. 

"  He  was  a  revelation  to  me,"  said  Willis  long 
afterward.  "  He  was  so  well  posted  on  everything. 
He  was  the  first  man  that  I  had  ever  met  that  really 
knew  anything.  I  had  just  been  with  a  lot  of 
roughnecks,  cowpunchers,  horse-thieves,  and  that 
sort.  Roosevelt  would  explain  things  to  me.  He 
told  me  a  lot  of  things." 

Among  other  things,  Roosevelt  told  Willis  some 
of  his  experiences  in  the  New  York  Assembly. 
Huge  sums  had  been  offered  him  to  divert  him  from 
this  course  or  that  which  certain  interests  regarded 
as  dangerous  to  their  freedom  of  action.  To  Willis 
it  was  amazing  that  Roosevelt  should  not  have 

^  Willis  was  a  great  teller  of  tales.  See  Hunting  the  Grizzly,  by 
Theodore  Roosevelt  (The  Sagamore  Series,  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  page 
ai6  ff.),  for  the  most  lurid  of  his  yarns. 


4^4       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

accepted  what  was  offered  to  him,  and  he  began  to 
be  aware  of  certain  standards  of  virtue  and  honor. 

To  Roosevelt  the  trip  was  a  splendid  adventure; 
to  Willis  it  proved  a  turning-point  in  his  life.^ 

Roosevelt  returned  to  Elkhorn  the  middle  of 
September,  to  find  that  Sewall  and  Dow  had  come 
to  a  momentous  decision.  Dow  had,  during  his 
absence,  taken  a  train-load  of  cattle  to  Chicago, 
and  had  found  that  the  best  price  he  was  able  to 
secure  for  the  hundreds  of  cattle  he  had  taken  to 
the  market  there  was  less  by  ten  dollars  a  head 
than  the  sum  it  had  cost  to  raise  and  transport 
them.  Sewall  and  Dow  had  "  figured  things  over," 
and  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  sooner 
they  terminated  their  contract  with  Roosevelt  the 
less  money  he  would  lose.  They  recognized  that 
they  themselves  were  safe  enough,  for  by  the  "  one- 
sided trade,"  as  Sewall  called  it,  which  Roosevelt 
had  made  with  them,  they  were  to  share  in  what- 
ever profits  there  were,  and  in  case  there  were  no 
profits  were  to  receive  wages.  But  neither  of  them 
enjoyed  the  part  he  was  playing  in  what  seemed  to 
both  of  them  a  piece  of  hopeless  business. 

Roosevelt  himself  had  been  wondering  whether 
it  was  wise  to  allow  the  two  backwoodsmen  to 
continue  in  an  enterprise  in  which  the  future  was 
so  clouded  and  full  of  the  possibilities  of  disaster. 

^  When  Roosevelt  came  to  Helena  in  191 1,  John  Willis  was  one 
of  the  crowd  that  greeted  him.  Willis  clapped  Roosevelt  on  the 
back  familiarly.  "  I  made  a  man  out  of  you,"  he  cried.  Quick  as  a 
flash,  came  Roosevelt's  retort:  "  Yes.  John  made  a  man  out  of  me, 
but  I  made  a  Christian  out  of  John." 


FERRIS   AXU    MERRIKIELD   ON  THE    RIIXS   UF    Till-:    FIRST    slIAC  K   AT 

ELKHORN 

It  was  this  shack  which  Maunders  claimed 


CORRALS  AT  ELKHORN 
Photograph  by  Theodore  Roosevelt 


ELKHORN  BREAKS  UP  425 

He  himself  might  win  through,  and  he  might  not. 
The  thing  was  a  gamble,  in  any  event.  He  could 
afford  to  take  the  risk.    Sewall  and  Dow  could  not. 

He  had  written  '*  Bamie,"  earlier  in  the  summer, 
that  he  was  "  curious  to  see  how  the  fall  sales  would 
come  out."  Dow's  report  completely  satisfied  his 
curiosity. 

He  called  the  two  men  into  his  room.  He  told 
them  that  he  too  had  been  "  figuring  up  things." 
He  would  stand  by  his  agreement,  he  said,  if,  fac- 
ing an  uncertain  outcome,  they  wished  to  remain. 
But,  if  they  were  willing,  he  thought  they  had 
"  better  quit  the  business  and  go  back." 

Sewall  and  Dow  did  not  hesitate.  They  said 
they  would  go  back. 

"  I  never  wanted  to  fool  away  anybody  else's 
money,"  Sewall  added.  "  Never  had  any  of  my  own 
to  fool  away." 

"  How  soon  can  you  go?  "  asked  Roosevelt. 

Sewall  turned  and  went  into  the  kitchen  "  to  ask 
the  womenfolks."  It  happened  that  three  or  four 
weeks  previous  the  population  of  Elkhorn  had  been 
increased  by  two.  Baby  sons  had  arrived  in  the 
same  week  in  the  families  of  both  Sewall  and  Dow. 
The  ministrations  of  Dr.  Stickney  had  not  been 
available,  and  the  two  mothers  had  survived  because 
they  had  the  constitutions  of  frontierswomen  rather 
than  because  they  had  the  benefit  of  the  nursing 
of  the  termagant  who  was  Jerry  Tompkins's  wife. 
The  babies  —  known  to  their  families,  and  to  the 
endless  succession  of  cowboys  who  came  from  near 


426      ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

and  far  to  inspect  them,  as  "  the  Bad  Lands  babies  " 
—  were  just  six  weeks  old. 

"  The  womenfolks  say  they  can  go  in  three 
weeks,"  Sewall  reported. 

"  Three  weeks  from  to-day,"  answered  Roosevelt, 
"  we  go." 

And  so  the  folks  from  Maine,  who  had  made  a 
rough  and  simple  house  in  the  wilderness  into  a 
home,  began  to  gather  together  their  belongings 
and  pack  up.   Wise  old  Bill  Sewall  had  been  right. 

"  You'll  come  to  feel  different,"  he  had  said,  two 
years  before,  when  Roosevelt  had  been  lonely  and 
despondent.  ''  And  then  you  won't  want  to  stay 
here." 

Life,  which  for  a  while  had  seemed  to  Roosevelt 
so  gray  and  dismal,  had,  in  fact,  slowly  taken  on 
new  color.  At  times  he  had  imagined  that  Dakota 
might  satisfy  him  for  a  permanent  residence,  but 
that  fancy,  born  of  grief  and  disappointment,  had 
vanished  in  the  radiance  of  a  new  happiness.  He 
had  become  engaged  to  Edith  Carow,  and  he  knew 
that  the  world  for  him  and  for  her  was  that  busy 
world  where  his  friends  were,  and  hers,  and  where 
he  and  she  had  been  boy  and  girl  together. 

The  lure  of  politics,  moreover,  was  calling  him. 
And  yet,  during  those  last  weeks  at  Elkhorn,  he 
was  not  at  all  sure  that  he  wished  to  reenter  the 
turmoil.  He  rode  out  into  the  prairie  one  day  for  a 
last  "  session  "  with  Bill  Sewall  shortly  before  the 
three  weeks  were  up.  He  told  Sewall  he  had  an  idea 
he  ought  to  go  into  law. 


FACING  EAST  427 

"  You'd  be  a  good  lawyer,"  said  Bill,  "  but  I 
think  you  ought  to  go  into  politics.  Good  men  like 
you  ought  to  go  into  politics.  If  you  do,  and  if  you 
live,  I  think  you'll  be  President." 

Roosevelt  laughed.  "  That's  looking  a  long  way 
ahead." 

"It  may  look  a  long  way  ahead  to  you,"  Sewall 
declared  stoutly,  "  but  it  isn't  as  far  ahead  as  it's 
been  for  some  of  the  men  who  got  there." 

"  I'm  going  home  now,"  said  Roosevelt,  "  to  see 
about  a  job  my  friends  want  me  to  take.  I  don't 
think  I  want  it.  It  will  get  me  into  a  row.  And  I 
want  to  write." 

An  Easterner,  whose  name  has  slipped  from  the 
record,  hearing  possibly  that  Roosevelt  was  making 
changes  in  the  management  of  his  herds,  offered  to 
buy  all  of  Roosevelt's  cattle.  Roosevelt  refused. 
The  man  offered  to  buy  Merrifield's  share,  then 
Sylvane's.  Both  rejected  the  offer.  The  herd  had 
increased  greatly  in  value  since  they  had  established 
it.  The  coming  spring,  they  said,  they  would  begin 
to  get  great  returns.  .  . . 

"  September  25,  1886,"  runs  an  item  in  Bill 
Sewall's  account-book,  "  squared  accounts  with 
Theodore  Roosevelt."  On  the  same  day  Roosevelt 
made  a  contract  with  Merrifield  and  Sylvane 
Ferris  by  which  he  agreed,  as  the  contract  runs,  "  to 
place  all  his  cattle  branded  with  the  Maltese  cross 
and  all  his  she-stock  and  bulls  branded  with  the 
elkhorn  and  triangle,  some  twenty-odd  hundred 
head  in  all,  valued  at  sixty  thousand  dollars,"  in 


428       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

charge  of  Ferris  and  Merrifield  on  shares  for  the 
term  of  four  years;  the  men  of  the  Maltese  Cross 
agreeing  on  their  part  to  take  charge  of  the  Elkhorn 
steer  brand  which  was  Roosevelt's  exclusive  prop- 
erty. 

Then,  knowing  that  his  cattle  were  in  good  hands, 
Roosevelt  once  more  turned  his  face  to  the  East, 
conscious  in  his  heart,  no  doubt,  that,  however  soon 
he  might  return,  or  however  often,  the  Dakota 
idyl  was  ended. 


XXV 

I  may  not  see  a  hundred 

Before  I  see  the  Styx, 
But  coal  or  ember,  I'll  remember 

Eighteen-eighty-six. 

The  stiff  heaps  in  the  coulee, 

The  dead  eyes  in  the  camp. 
And  the  wind  about,  blowing  fortunes  out 

As  a  woman  blows  out  a  lamp. 

From  Medora  Nights 

Roosevelt  accepted  the  Republican  nomination 
for  Mayor  of  New  York  City,  "  with  the  most 
genuine  reluctance,"  as  he  wrote  Lodge.  He  rec- 
ognized that  it  was  "  a  perfectly  hopeless  contest; 
the  chance  for  success  being  so  very  small  that  it 
may  be  left  out  of  account."  It  was  a  three-cornered 
fight,  with  Henry  George  as  the  nominee  of  a  United 
Labor  Party  on  a  single-tax  platform,  and  Abram  S. 
Hewitt  as  the  candidate  of  Tammany  Hall. 

The  nomination  gave  Dakota  an  occasion  to 
express  its  mind  concerning  its  adopted  son,  and  it 
did  so,  with  gusto. 

Theodore  is  a  Dakota  cowboy  [said  the  Press  of  Sioux 
Falls],  and  has  spent  a  large  share  of  his  time  in  the 
Territory  for  a  couple  of  years.  He  is  one  of  the  finest 
thoroughbreds  you  ever  met  —  a  whole-souled,  clear- 
headed, high-minded  gentleman.  When  he  first  went  on 
the  range,  the  cowboys  took  him  for  a  dude,  but  soon 
they  realized  the  stuff  of  which  the  youngster  was  built, 
and  there  is  no  man  now  who  inspires  such  enthusiastic 
regard  among  them  as  he. 


430       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Roosevelt  conducted  a  lively  campaign,  for  it 
was  not  in  him  to  make  anything  but  the  best  fight 
of  which  he  was  capable  even  with  the  odds  against 
him.  The  thoughtful  element  of  the  city,  on  whose 
support  against  the  radicalism  of  Henry  George 
on  the  one  hand  and  the  corruption  of  Tammany 
on  the  other,  he  should  have  been  able  to  count, 
became  panic-stricken  at  the  possibility  of  a  labor 
victory,  and  gave  their  votes  to  Hewitt.  He  was 
emphatically  defeated;  in  fact;  he  ran  third.  "  But 
anyway,"  he  remarked  cheerfully,  "  I  had  a  bully 
time." 

He  went  abroad  immediately  after  election,  and 
in  December,  at  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square, 
London,  he  married  Edith  Kermit  Carow. 

Once  more,  winter  descended  upon  the  Bad  Lands. 

Medora  [remarked  the  Bismarck  Tribune  in  Novem- 
ber] has  pretty  nearly  gone  into  winter  quarters.  To  be 
sure,  the  slaughter-house  establishment  of  Marquis  de 
Mores  will  not  formally  shut  down  until  the  end  of  the 
month,  but  there  are  many  days  on  which  there  is  no 
killing  done  and  the  workmen  have  to  lay  off.  The 
past  season  has  not  been  of  the  busiest,  and  the  near 
approach  of  winter  finds  this  about  the  quietest  place 
in  western  Dakota.  The  hotel  is  closed.  There  is  only 
one  general  store  and  its  proprietor  declared  that  the 
middle  of  December  will  find  him,  stock  and  all,  hundreds 
of  miles  from  her'e.  The  proprietor  of  the  drug  store  will 
move  early  in  December,  as  he  cannot  make  his  board 
in  the  place. 

A.  T.  Packard,  the  editor  of  the  Bad  Lands  Cowboy, 
which  now  has  a  circulation  of  650,  is  evidently  prosper- 


THE  BAD  WINTER  431 

ing  well,  and,  with  the  managers  of  the  Northern  Pacific 
Refrigerator  Company  and  the  railroad  agents,  seems 
to  be  about  the  only  person  who  expresses  an  intention 
of  spending  the  season  here. 

Fortunate  were  those  who  spent  that  season  else- 
where. Old-timers,  whose  wits  had  been  sharpened 
by  long  life  in  the  open,  had  all  the  autumn  been 
making  ominous  predictions.  They  talked  of  a  hard 
winter  ahead,  and  the  canniest  of  them  defied  the 
skeptics  by  riding  into  Medora  trailing  a  pack-horse 
and  purchasing  six  months'  supplies  of  provisions 
at  one  time. 

Nature,  they  pointed  out,  was  busier  than  she 
had  ever  been,  in  the  memory  of  the  oldest  hunter 
in  that  region,  in  "  fixin'  up  her  folks  for  hard  times." 
The  muskrats  along  the  creeks  were  building  their 
houses  to  twice  their  customary  height;  the  walls 
were  thicker  than  usual,  and  the  muskrats'  fur  was 
longer  and  heavier  than  any  old-timer  had  ever 
known  it  to  be.  The  beavers  were  working  by  day 
as  well  as  by  night,  cutting  the  willow  brush,  and 
observant  eyes  noted  that  they  were  storing  twice 
their  usual  winter's  supply.  The  birds  were  acting 
strangely.  The  ducks  and  geese,  which  ordinarily 
flew  south  in  October,  that  autumn  had,  a  month 
earlier,  already  departed.  The  snowbirds  and  the 
cedar  birds  were  bunched  in  the  thickets,  fluttering 
about  by  the  thousands  in  the  cedar  brakes,  obvi- 
ously restless  and  uneasy.  The  Arctic  owls,  who 
came  only  in  hard  winters,  were  about. 

There  was  other  evidence  that  the  winds  were 


432       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

brewing  misery.  Not  only  the  deer  and  the  antelope, 
the  wolves  and  the  coyotes,  but  the  older  range 
cattle  and  the  horses  were  growing  unusually  long 
coats. 

Other  signs  of  strange  disturbances  of  Nature 
were  not  lacking.  During  October  the  usual  Indian- 
summer  haze  seemed  to  have  lifted  to  a  higher 
altitude,  interposing,  as  it  were,  a  curtain  between 
earth  and  sun.  The  light  became  subdued  and  un- 
natural. Halos  appeared  about  the  sun,  with  sun- 
dogs  at  opposite  sides  of  the  circle.  The  super- 
stitious were  startled,  in  the  time  of  the  full  moon, 
at  four  shafts  of  light,  which  could  be  seen  emanat- 
ing from  it,  giving  an  eerie  effect  as  of  a  cross  over 
the  silver  disc. 

There  was  usually  a  wet  snowstorm  in  late 
October;  this  year  it  did  not  come.  A  weird,  dull 
stillness  was  in  the  air.  Then,  one  evening  toward 
the  end  of  the  first  week  in  November,  the  snow 
came,  falling  lightly  and  noiselessly.  As  the  evening 
advanced,  the  wind  arose;  and  even  as  it  increased 
in  violence,  the  spirit  in  the  thermometer  fell.  The 
wind  became  a  gale,  and  before  midnight  a  blizzard 
was  howling  and  sweeping  through  the  Bad  Lands 
such  as  no  one  there  had  ever  known  before.  The 
snow  was  like  the  finest  powder,  driving  through 
every  crack  and  nail  hole,  and  piling  snowdrifts 
within  the  houses  as  well  as  without. 

"Upon  getting  up  in  the  morning,"  said  Lincoln 
Lang  long  afterward,  describing  that  storm,  "  the 
house   was    intensely    cold,    with    everything    that 


THE  FIRST  BLIZZARD  433 

could  freeze  frozen  solid.  The  light  was  cut  off  from 
the  windows  looking  south.  As  we  opened  the  front 
door,  we  were  confronted  by  a  solid  wall  of  snow 
reaching  to  the  eaves  of  the  house.  There  was  no 
drift  over  the  back  door,  looking  north,  but,  as  I 
opened  it,  I  was  blown  almost  from  my  feet  by  the 
swirl  of  the  snow,  which  literally  filled  the  air,  so 
that  it  was  impossible  to  see  any  of  the  surrounding 
ranch-buildings  or  even  the  fence,  less  than  fifty  feet 
distant.  It  was  like  a  tornado  of  pure  white  dust 
or  very  fine  sand,  icy  cold,  and  stinging  like  a 
whip-lash." 

As  fast  as  the  fine  dry  snow  fell,  it  drifted  and 
packed  itself  into  the  coulees,  gulches,  and  depres- 
sions, filling  them  to  a  depth  of  a  hundred  feet  or 
more.  The  divides  and  plateaus,  and  other  exposed 
places,  were  left  almost  bare,  except  where  some 
mound  or  rock  or  bit  of  sagebrush  created  an  ob- 
struction, about  which  the  eddying  currents  piled 
snowdrifts  which  rose  week  after  week  to  huge 
proportions.  On  the  river  bottoms  where  the  sage- 
brush was  thick,  the  snow  lay  level  with  the  top  of 
the  brush,  then  drove  on  to  lodge  and  pack  about 
the  Cottonwood  trees  and  beneath  the  river-banks, 
forming  great  drifts,  extending  here  and  there 
from  bank  to  bank. 

The  blizzard  abated,  but  the  icy  cold  did  not; 
another  blizzard  came,  and  another  and  another. 
Save  as  it  was  whirled  by  the  wind,  ultimately  to 
become  a  part  of  some  great  drift,  the  snow  remained 
where  it  fell.    No  momentary  thaw  came  to  carry 


434       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

away  a  portion  of  the  country's  icy  burden,  or  to 
alleviate  for  a  few  hours  the  strain  on  the  snow- 
bound men  and  women  in  the  lonely  ranch-houses. 
On  the  bottoms  the  snow  was  four  feet  deep. 

November  gave  way  to  December,  and  December 
to  January.  The  terrible  cold  persisted,  and  over 
the  length  and  breadth  of  the  Bad  Lands  the  drifts 
grew  monstrous,  obliterating  old  landmarks  and 
creating  new,  to  the  bewilderment  of  the  occasional 
wayfarer. 

Blizzard  followed  blizzard.  For  the  men  and 
women  on  the  scattered  ranches,  it  was  a  period  of 
intense  strain  and  privation;  but  for  the  cattle, 
wandering  over  the  wind-swept  world  of  snow  and 
ice,  those  terrible  months  brought  an  affliction 
without  parallel. 

No  element  was  lacking  to  make  the  horror  of  the 
ranges  complete.  The  country,  as  Roosevelt  had 
pointed  out  in  July,  was  over-stocked.  Even  under 
favorable  conditions  there  was  not  enough  grass 
to  feed  the  cattle  grazing  in  the  Bad  Lands.  And 
conditions  throughout  the  summer  of  1886  had  been 
menacingly  unfavorable.  The  drought  had  been 
intense.  A  plague  of  grasshoppers  had  swept  over 
the  hills.  Ranchmen,  who  were  accustomed  to  store 
large  quantities  of  hay  for  use  in  winter,  harvested 
little  or  none,  and  were  forced  to  turn  all  their 
cattle  out  on  the  range  to  shift  for  themselves.  The 
range  itself  was  barren.  The  stem-cured  grass 
which  generally  furnished  adequate  nutriment  had 
been  largely  consumed  by  the  grasshoppers.    What 


DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  CATTLE        435 

there  was  of  it  was  buried  deep  under  successive 
layers  of  snow.  The  new  stock,  the  "  yearlings," 
driven  into  the  Bad  Lands  from  Texas  or  Iowa 
or  Minnesota,  succumbed  first  of  all.  In  the  coulees 
or  the  creek-beds,  where  they  sought  refuge  in 
droves  from  the  stinging  blasts  of  the  driven  snow, 
they  stood  helpless  and  were  literally  snowed  under, 
or  imprisoned  by  the  accumulation  of  ice  about 
their  feet,  and  frozen  to  death  where  they  stood. 
The  native  stock,  in  their  shaggier  coats,  faced  the 
iron  desolation  with  more  endurance,  keeping  astir 
and  feeding  on  sagebrush  and  the  twigs  of  young 
cottonwoods.  Gaunt  and  bony,  they  hung  about 
the  ranches  or  drifted  into  Medora,  eating  the  tar- 
paper  from  the  sides  of  the  shacks,  until  at  last 
they  dropped  and  died.  There  was  no  help  that 
the  most  sympathetic  humanitarian  or  the  most 
agonized  cattle-owner  could  give  them;  for  there 
was  no  fodder.  There  was  nothing  that  any  one 
could  do,  except,  with  aching  and  apprehensive 
heart,  to  watch  them  die. 

They  died  by  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands, 
piled  one  on  the  other  in  coulees  and  wash-outs  and 
hidden  from  sight  by  the  snow  which  seemed  never 
to  cease  from  falling.  Only  the  wolves  and  coyotes 
throve  that  winter,  for  the  steers,  imprisoned  in 
the  heavy  snow,  furnished  an  easy  "  kill."  Sage 
chickens  were  smothered  under  the  drifts,  rabbits 
were  smothered  in  their  holes. 

It  was  a  winter  of  continuous  and  unspeakable 
tragedy.    Men  rode  out  into  the  storms  and  never 


436       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

reached  their  destinations,  wandering  desperately 
in  circles  and  sinking  down  at  last,  to  be  covered 
like  the  cattle  with  the  merciless  snow.  Children 
lost  their  way  between  ranch-house  and  stable  and 
were  frozen  to  death  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
their  homes.  The  "  partner  "  of  Jack  Snyder,  a 
pleasant  "Dutchman,"  whom  Roosevelt  knew  well, 
died  and  could  not  be  buried,  for  no  pick  could 
break  through  that  iron  soil;  and  Snyder  laid  him 
outside  the  cabin  they  had  shared,  to  remain  there  till 
spring  came,  covered  also  by  the  unremitting  snow. 
Here  and  there  a  woman  went  off  her  head.  One 
such  instance  was  productive  of  a  piece  of  uncon- 
scious humor  that,  in  its  grimness,  was  in  key  with 
the  rest  of  that  terrible  winter: 

Dear  Pierre  [wrote  a  friend  to  Wibaux,  who  had  gone 
to  France  for  the  winter,  leaving  his  wife  in  charge  of 
the  ranch], —  No  news,  except  that  Dave  Brown  killed 
Dick  Smith  and  your  wife's  hired  girl  blew  her  brains 
out  in  the  kitchen.  Everything  O.K.  here. 
Yours  truly 

Henry  Jackson 

Early  in  March,  after  a  final  burst  of  icy  fury, 
a  quietness  came  into  the  air,  and  the  sun,  burning 
away  the  haze  that  lay  over  it,  shone  down  once 
more  out  of  a  blue  sky.  Slowly  the  temperature 
rose,  and  then  one  day,  never  to  be  forgotten,  there 
came  a  warm  moistness  into  the  atmosphere. 
Before  night  fell,  the  "  Chinook"  was  pouring  down 
from  beyond  the  mountains,  releasing  the  icy 
tension  and  softening  all  things. 


THE  SPRING  FLOOD  437 

Last  Sunday  [the  Dickinson  Press  recorded,  on  March 
5th]  the  welcome  Chinook  wind  paid  us  a  visit,  and 
before  noon  the  Httle  rills  were  trickling  down  the  hills 
and  the  brown  herbage  began  to  appear  through  the 
snow  in  every  direction ;  the  soft,  balmy  wind  fanning 
the  cheek  brought  memories  and  hopes  of  spring  to  the 
winter-wearied  denizens  of  our  community. 

"  Within  a  day  or  so,"  said  Lincoln  Lang  after- 
ward, *'  the  snow  had  softened  everywhere.  Gullies 
and  wash-outs  started  to  run  with  constantly  in- 
creasing force,  until  at  length  there  was  a  steady 
roar  of  running  water,  with  creeks  out  of  bounds 
everywhere.  Then,  one  day,  we  suddenly  heard  a 
roar  above  that  of  the  rushing  water,  coming  from 
the  direction  of  the  Little  Missouri,  and  hurrying 
there  saw  a  sight,  once  seen,  never  to  be  forgotten. 
The  river  was  out  of  banks  clear  up  into  the  cotton- 
woods  and  out  on  to  the  bottom,  going  down  in  a 
raging,  muddy  torrent,  literally  full  of  huge,  grinding 
ice-cakes,  up-ending  and  rolling  over  each  other  as 
they  went,  tearing  down  trees  in  their  paths,  ripping, 
smashing,  tearing  at  each  other  and  everything  in 
their  course  in  the  effort  to  get  out  and  away.  The 
spectacle  held  us  spellbound.  None  of  us  had  ever 
seen  anything  to  compare  with  it,  for  the  spring 
freshets  of  other  years  had  been  mild  affairs  as 
compared  to  this.  But  there  was  something  else 
that  had  never  been  seen  before,  and  doubtless 
never  will  be  seen  again,  for  as  we  gazed  we  could 
see  countless  carcasses  of  cattle  going  down  with 
the  ice,  rolling  over  and  over  as  they  went,  so  that 
at  times  all  four  of  the  stiffened  legs  of  a  carcass 


438       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

would  point  skyward  as  it  turned  under  the  im- 
pulsion of  the  swiftly  moving  current  and  the  grind- 
ing ice-cakes.  Now  and  then  a  carcass  would  be- 
come pinched  between  two  ice-floes,  and  either  go 
down  entirely  or  else  be  forced  out  on  the  top  of 
the  ice,  to  be  rafted  along  for  a  space  until  the  cake 
upon  which  it  rested  suddenly  up-ended  or  turned 
completely  over  in  the  maelstrom  of  swirling  water 
and  ice.  Continuously  carcasses  seemed  to  be  going 
down  while  others  kept  bobbing  up  at  one  point  or 
another  to  replace  them." 

And  this  terrible  drama  continued,  not  for  an  hour 
or  for  a  few  hours,  but  for  days.  Only  as  the  weeks 
went  by  and  the  snow  retreated  was  it  possible  for 
the  cattlemen  to  make  any  estimate  of  their  losses. 
The  coulees  were  packed  with  dead  cattle;  the 
sheltered  places  in  the  cottonwood  trees  in  the 
bottoms  along  the  river  were  packed  with  them. 
Here  and  there  a  carcass  was  discovered  high  up  in 
a  crotch  of  a  tree  where  the  animal  had  struggled 
over  the  drifts  to  munch  the  tender  twigs. 

"  I  got  a  saddle  horse  and  rode  over  the  country," 
said  Merrifield  afterward,  "  and  I'm  telling  you,  the 
first  day  I  rode  out  I  never  saw  a  live  animal." 

The  desolation  of  the  Bad  Lands  was  inde- 
scribable. Where  hundreds  of  thousands  of  cattle 
had  grazed  the  previous  autumn,  shambled  and 
stumbled  a  few  emaciated,  miserable  survivors. 
Gregor  Lang,  who  had  gone  into  the  winter  with 
three  thousand  head  all  told,  came  out  of  it  with 
less  than  four  hundred.   The  "  Hash- Knife  outfit," 


THE  BONEYARD  439 

which  had  owned  a  hundred  thousand  head,  lost 
seventy-five  thousand.  Not  a  ranchman  up  and 
down  the  Little  Missouri  lost  less  than  half  his  herd. 
The  halcyon  days  of  Billings  County  were  over. 
What  had  been  a  flourishing  cattle  country  was  a 
boneyard  where  the  agents  of  fertilizer  factories 
bargained  for  skeletons. 


XXVI 

Some  towns  go  out  in  a  night, 

And  some  are  swept  bare  in  a  day, 

But  our  town  like  a  phantom  island, 
Just  faded  away. 

Some  towns  die,  and  are  dead. 

But  ours,  though  it  perished,  breathes; 

And,  in  old  men  and  in  young  dreamers 
Still,  glows  and  seethes. 

From  Medora  Nights 

Roosevelt  returned  from  Europe  on  March  28th. 

The  loss  among  the  cattle  has  been  terrible  [he  wrote 
Sewall  from  New  York  early  in  April].  About  the  only 
comfort  I  have  out  of  it  is  that,  at  any  rate,  you  and 
Wilmot  are  all  right ;  I  would  not  mind  the  loss  of  a  few 
hundred  if  it  was  the  only  way  to  benefit  you  and  Will  — 
but  it  will  be  much  more  than  that. 

I  am  going  out  West  in  a  few  days  to  look  at  things 
for  myself. 

Well,  I  must  now  try  to  worry  through  as  best  I  may. 
Sometime  I  hope  to  get  a  chance  to  go  up  and  see  you 
all.  Then  I  shall  forget  my  troubles  when  we  go  off  into 
the  woods  after  caribou  or  moose. 

There  was  no  merriment  this  time  when  Roosevelt 
arrived  in  Medora.  With  Sylvane  he  rode  over  the 
ranges. 

You  cannot  imagine  anything  more  dreary  than  the 
look  of  the  Bad  Lands  [he  wrote  Sewall].  Everything 
was  cropped  as  bare  as  a  bone.  The  sagebrush  was 
just  fed  out  by  the  starving  cattle.  The  snow  lay  so 
deep  that  nobody  could  get  around;  it  was  almost  im- 
possible to  get  a  horse  a  mile. 

In    almost    every   coulee    there   were   dead    cattle. 


ROOSEVELT'S  LOSSES  441 

There  were  nearly  three  hundred  on  Wadsworth  bottom. 
Annie  came  through  all  right;  Angus  died.  Only  one 
or  two  of  our  horses  died;  but  the  O  K  lost  sixty  head. 
In  one  of  Munro's  draws  I  counted  in  a  single  patch  of 
brushwood  twenty-three  dead  cows  and  calves. 

You  boys  were  lucky  to  get  out  when  you  did ;  if  you 
had  waited  until  spring,  I  guess  it  would  have  been  a 
case  of  walking. 

"  I  don't  know  how  many  thousand  we  owned  at 
Elkhorn  and  the  Maltese  Cross  in  the  autumn  of 
1886,"  said  Merrifield  afterward.  ''But  after  that 
terrible  winter  there  wasn't  a  cow  left,  only  a  few 
hundred  sick-looking  steers." 

I  am  bluer  than  indigo  about  the  cattle  [Roosevelt 
wrote  his  sister  Corinne].  It  is  even  worse  than  I  feared ; 
I  wish  I  was  sure  I  would  lose  no  more  than  half  the 
money  I  invested  out  here.  I  am  planning  how  to  get  out 
of  it. 

With  Sylvane  and  Merrifield,  with  whom  in  other 
days  Roosevelt  had  talked  of  golden  prospects,  he 
gloomily  reviewed  the  tragic  situation.  The  impulse 
was  strong  in  them  all  to  start  afresh  and  retrieve 
their  losses.  Most  of  the  cattlemen  were  completely 
discouraged  and  were  selling  at  ridiculously  low 
prices  the  stock  which  had  survived  the  winter.  But 
Roosevelt  resisted  the  temptation. 

"  I  can't  afford  to  take  a  chance  by  putting  in  any 
more  capital,"  said  Roosevelt.  "  I  haven't  the  right 
to  do  it." 

And  there  the  discussion  ended. 

There  was  a  matter  beside  the  wreck  of  his  cattle 
business    which    required    Roosevelt's    immediate. 


442       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

attention.  George  Myers  was  under  suspicion 
(honest  George  Myers,  of  all  men!)  of  being  a  cattle- 
thief.  Roosevelt  would  have  jumped  to  George's 
defense  in  any  case,  but  the  fact  that  the  man  who 
brought  the  charges  against  him  was  Joe  Morrill, 
whom  the  forces  of  disorder  had  elected  sheriff  the 
previous  April,  added  an  extra  zest  to  the  fight. 

George  had,  for  some  years,  "run"  a  few  cattle 
of  his  own  with  the  Maltese  Cross  herd.  Of  these, 
two  steers  had,  through  an  oversight,  remained  un- 
branded  and  been  sent  to  Chicago  with  what  was 
known  as  a  "hair-brand "  picked  on  the  hide.  Morrill 
was  stock  inspector  as  well  as  sheriff  and  allowed  the 
animals  to  pass,  but  when  Myers,  shortly  after,  went 
East  to  visit  his  family,  Morrill  swore  out  a  warrant 
for  his  arrest  and  started  in  pursuit. 

He  found  Myers  at  Wooster,  Ohio,  arrested  him, 
obtained  his  extradition  and  then,  to  the  amazement 
of  the  local  judge,  released  him. 

"You  can  go  now,  George,"  he  said.  "  When  will 
you  be  ready  to  start  back?  " 

"Oh,  in  a  day  or  two,  I  guess,"  said  George. 

"  That's  a  hell  of  a  way  to  use  a  prisoner," 
exclaimed  the  judge. 

"  Thanks,  judge,"  Morrill  replied  coolly,  "  but 
he's  my  prisoner." 

They  returned  West  shortly  after,  living  high  on 
the  way.  The  sheriff  had  his  wife  with  him,  and  it 
dawned  on  George  that  Joe  Morrill  was  having  an 
extraordinarily  pleasant  vacation  at  the  expense  of 
the  taxpayers  and  of  George's  own  reputation,  and,  in 


GEORGE  MYERS 


THE  LITTLE  MISSOURI  AT  ELKHORN 


MORRILL  vs.  MYERS  443 

addition,  was  making  a  tidy  sum  of  money  out  of  the 
trip.  His  transportation,  reservations,  and  allowance 
per  diem  were  paid,  of  course,  by  the  county  he  rep- 
resented. George,  having  brought  a  load  of  cattle  to 
the  stock-yards,  had  a  pass  for  his  return.  But  that 
was  the  sheriff's  luck,  it  appeared,  not  the  county's. 
Morrill  treated  him  most  affably.  As  they  were  near- 
ing  Medora,  in  fact,  he  informed  his  prisoner  that 
he  would  appear  before  the  justice  of  the  peace, 
explain  that  he  had  discovered  that  the  charge  was 
baseless,  and  ask  for  a  dismissal  of  the  case  without 
a  hearing  on  the  ground  that  a  mistake  had  been 
made. 

But  the  sheriff  was  not  taking  into  account  the 
fact  that  Medora  had,  during  the  past  two  or  three 
years,  emerged  from  barbarism,  and  that  there  was 
such  a  thing  as  public  opinion  to  be  confronted  and 
satisfied.  To  the  majority  of  the  citizens,  an  accusa- 
tion of  cattle-thieving  was  almost  identical  with  a 
conviction,  and  feeling  ran  high  for  a  time  against 
George  Myers.  But  Packard  jumped  into  the  fight 
and  in  the  columns  of  the  Bad  Lands  Cowboy 
excoriated  Joe  Morrill. 

The  affair  spilled  over  beyond  the  limits  of 
Billings  County,  for  the  Bismarck  Tribune  printed 
Morrill's  version  of  the  case,  and  a  day  or  so  later 
published  a  stinging  letter  from  Packard,  who  was 
nothing  if  not  belligerent.  It  did  not  hurt  his  cause 
that  he  was  able  to  quote  a  statement,  made  by 
Morrill,  that  "  there's  plenty  in  it  if  the  justice  of 
the  peace  and  the  sheriff  work  together." 


444       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Myers,  backed  by  Packard,  refused  to  have  the 
case  dismissed  and  it  was  put  on  the  calendar  at 
Mandan.   There  it  rested  until  the  following  spring. 

Roosevelt,  arriving  in  Medora  in  April,  saw  at  once 
that  a  larger  issue  was  at  stake  than  even  the  ques- 
tion of  doing  justice  to  a  man  wrongfully  accused. 
To  have  a  man  like  Morrill  officially  responsible  for 
the  detection  of  cattle-thieves  was  a  travesty. 

He  promptly  sought  Joe  Morrill,  finding  him  at 
the  "  depot."  In  his  capacity  as  chairman  of  the 
Little  Missouri  River  Stockmen's  Association,  he 
was  in  a  position  to  speak  as  Morrill's  employer, 
and  he  spoke  with  his  customary  directness.  Gregor 
Lang,  who  happened  to  be  present,  told  Lincoln 
afterward  that  he  had  "  never  heard  a  man  get 
such  a  scathing"  as  Roosevelt  gave  the  shifty  stock 
inspector. 

"Roosevelt  was  taking  a  lot  of  chances,"  said 
Lincoln  Lang  later,  "  because  Morrill  was  cornered. 
He  was  known  to  be  a  gunman  and  a  risky  man  to 
mix  with." 

Roosevelt  ordered  Morrill  to  resign  his  inspector- 
ship at  once.    Morrill  refused. 

The  annual  meeting  of  the  Montana  Stock- 
grower's  Association  was  to  be  held  in  Miles  City 
the  middle  of  the  month.  Roosevelt  knew  that  the 
Association  would  not  consent  to  sit  in  judgment 
on  the  case  as  between  Myers  and  Morrill.  He 
determined,  therefore,  to  demand  that  the  inspector- 
ship at  Medora  be  abolished  on  the  ground  that  the 
inspector  was  worse  than  useless. 


ROOSEVELT  TAKES  A  HAND  445 

Roosevelt  presented  his  charges  before  the  Board 
of  Stock  Commissioners  on  April  i8th.  The  Board 
was  evidently  reluctant  to  act,  and,  at  the  suggestion 
of  certain  members  of  it,  Roosevelt,  on  the  follow- 
ing day,  presented  the  matter  before  the  Executive 
Committee  of  the  Association.  He  asked  that  the 
Committee  request  the  Board  of  Stock  Commis- 
sioners to  do  away  with  the  inspectorship  at  Medora, 
but  the  Committee,  too,  was  wary  of  giving  offense. 
He  asked  twice  that  the  Committee  hear  the  charges. 
The  Committee  refused,  referring  him  back  to  the 
Board  of  Stock  Commissioners. 

That  Board,  meanwhile,  was  hearing  from 
other  cattlemen  in  the  Bad  Lands.  Boyce,  of  the 
great  "Three-Seven  outfit,"  supported  Roosevelt's 
charges,  and  Towers,  of  the  Towers  and  Gudgell 
Ranch  near  the  Big  Ox  Bow,  supported  Boyce. 
Morrill  was  sent  for  and  made  a  poor  showing.  It 
was  evidently  with  hesitant  spirits  that  the  Board 
finally  acted.  Morrill  was  dismissed,  but  the  Board 
hastened  to  explain  that  it  was  because  its  finances 
were  too  low  to  allow  it  to  continue  the  inspector- 
ship at  Medora  and  passed  a  vote  of  thanks  for 
Morrill's  "  efficiency  and  faithful  performance  of 
duty." 

What  Roosevelt  said  about  the  vote  of  thanks  is 
lost  to  history.  He  was,  no  doubt,  satisfied  with 
the  general  result  and  was  ready  to  let  Morrill 
derive  what  comfort  he  could  out  of  the  words  with 
which  it  was  adorned. 

Through    the   records   of    that   meeting   of    the 


446       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

cattlemen,  Roosevelt  looms  with  singular  impres- 
siveness.  At  the  meeting  of  the  previous  year  he 
had  been  an  initiate,  an  effective  follower  of  men 
he  regarded  as  better  informed  than  himself;  this 
year  he  was  himself  a  leader.  During  the  three 
years  that  had  elapsed  since  he  had  last  taken  a 
vigorous  part  in  the  work  of  an  important  deliber- 
ative body,  he  had  grown  to  an  extraordinary  extent. 
In  the  Legislature  in  Albany,  and  in  the  Republican 
Convention  in  Chicago  in  1884,  he  had  been  nervous, 
vociferous,  hot-headed,  impulsive;  in  Miles  City, 
in  1887,  there  was  the  same  vigor,  the  same  drive 
but  with  them  a  poise  which  the  younger  man  had 
utterly  lacked.  On  the  first  day  of  the  meeting  he 
made  a  speech  asking  for  the  elimination,  from  a 
report  which  had  been  submitted,  of  a  passage 
condemning  the  Interstate  Commerce  Law.  The 
house  was  against  him  almost  to  a  man,  for  the 
cattlemen  considered  the  law  an  abominable  in- 
fringement of  their  rights. 

In  the  midst  of  the  discussion,  a  stockman  named 
Pat  Kelly,  who  was  incidentally  the  Democratic 
boss  of  Michigan,  rose  in  his  seat.  "  Can  any 
gentleman  inform  me,"  he  inquired,  "why  the 
business  of  this  meeting  should  be  held  up  by  the 
talk  of  a  broken-down  New  York  State  politician?  " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  stockmen 
expected  a  storm.  There  was  none.  Roosevelt  took 
up  the  debate  as  though  nothing  had  interrupted 
it.  The  man  from  Michigan  visibly  "  flattened 
out."   Meanwhile,  Roosevelt  won  his  point. 


A  COUNTRY  OF  RUINS  447 

He  spent  most  of  that  summer  at  Elkhorn  Ranch. 

Merrifield  had,  like  Joe  Ferris,  gone  East  to  New 
Brunswick  for  a  wife,  and  the  bride,  who,  like  Joe's 
wife,  was  a  woman  of  education  and  charm,  brought 
new  life  to  the  deserted  house  on  Elkhorn  bottom. 
But  something  was  gone  out  of  the  air  of  the  Bad 
Lands;  the  glow  that  had  burned  in  men's  eyes  had 
vanished.  It  had  been  a  country  of  dreams  and  it 
was  now  a  country  of  ruins;  and  the  magic  of  the 
old  days  could  not  be  re-created. 

The  cattle  industry  of  the  Bad  Lands,  for  the  time 
being,  was  dead;  and  the  pulses  of  the  little  town 
at  the  junction  of  the  railroad  and  the  Little  Mis- 
souri began  to  flutter  fitfully  and  ominously.  Only 
the  indomitable  pluck  of  the  Marquis  and  his 
deathless  fecundity  in  conceiving  new  schemes  of 
unexampled  magnitude  kept  it  alive  at  all.  The 
Marquis's  ability  to  create  artificial  respiration  and 
to  make  the  dead  take  on  the  appearance  of  life 
never  showed  to  better  effect  than  in  that  desolate 
year  of  1887.  His  plan  to  slaughter  cattle  on  the 
range  for  consumption  along  the  line  of  the  Northern 
Pacific  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes  shattered  by 
the  autumn  of  1885.  But  no  one,  it  appears,  recog- 
nized that  fact,  least  of  all  the  Marquis.  He  changed 
a  detail  here,  a  detail  there;  then,  charged  with  a 
new  enthusiasm,  he  talked  success  to  every  reporter 
who  came  to  interview  him,  flinging  huge  figures 
about  with  an  ease  that  a  Rockefeller  might  envy; 
and  the  newspapers  from  coast  to  coast  called  him 
one  of  the  builders  of  the  Northwest. 


448       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

His  plan  to  sell  dressed  beef  along  the  railroad 
gave  way  to  a  project  to  sell  it  at  the  wholesale  stalls 
in  Chicago.  That  failed.  Thereupon,  he  evolved  an 
elaborate  and  daring  scheme  to  sell  it  direct  to  con- 
sumers in  New  York  and  other  Eastern  seaboard 
cities. 

"  The  Marquis  actually  opened  his  stores  in  Ful- 
ton Market,"  said  Packard  afterward,  "  and  there 
sold  range  beef  killed  in  Medora.  Of  course  his  proj- 
ect failed.  It  was  shot  full  of  fatal  objections.  But 
with  his  magnetic  personality,  with  his  verbalistic 
short-jumps  over  every  objection,  with  every  news- 
paper and  magazine  of  the  land  an  enthusiastic 
volunteer  in  de  Mores  propaganda,  and  with  the 
halo  of  the  von  Hoffman  millions  surrounding  him 
and  all  his  deeds,  bankers  and  business  men  fell  into 
line  at  the  tail  of  the  de  Mores  chariot.  We  of  the 
Bad  Lands  were  the  first  to  see  the  fatal  weaknesses 
in  his  plans,  but  we  were  believers,  partly  because 
the  Marquis  seemed  to  overcome  every  difficulty  by 
the  use  of  money,  and  mainly  because  we  wanted 
to  believe." 

Dozens  of  shops  were  in  fact  opened  by  the  Mar- 
quis, but  the  public  refused  to  trade,  even  at  a 
saving,  in  stores  where  only  one  kind  of  meat  could 
be  bought.  The  Marquis  had  all  the  figures  in  the 
world  to  prove  that  the  public  should  buy;  but 
human  nature  thwarted  him. 

The  plan  failed,  but  the  Marquis,  with  his  cus- 
tomary dexterity,  obscured  the  failure  with  a  new 
and  even  more  engaging  dream. 


NEW  SCHEMES  OF  THE  IMARQUIS     449 

"'Our  company  is  to  be  merged  into  another  very 
large  cattle  syndicate,"  he  said  in  March,  1887, 
"  and  having  abundant  capital,  we  propose  to  buy 
up  every  retail  dealer  in  this  city  either  by  cash  or 
stock." 

The  National  Consumers'  Company  was  the  name 
of  the  new  organization. 

There  was  a  fine  mixture  of  altruism  and  business 
in  the  first  prospectus  which  the  Marquis's  new 
company  issued: 

Crushed,  as  so  many  others,  by  monopoly,  we  have 
been  looking  for  the  means  of  resisting  it  by  uniting  in 
a  practical  way  with  those  who,  like  ourselves,  tr>'  to 
make  their  future  by  their  work.  This  has  led  to  the 
organization  of  this  company.  The  name  of  the  company 
shows  its  aims.  It  must  be  worked  by  and  for  the 
people. 

That  sounded  ver>'  impressive,  and  the  news- 
papers began  to  speak  of  the  Marquis  as  a  true 
friend  of  the  people.  Meanwhile,  the  Bad  Lands 
Cowboy  announced: 

]^larquis  de  INIores  has  completed  contracts  with  the 
French  Government  to  supply  its  soldiers  with  a  newly 
invented  soup.  He  intends  to  visit  Europe  soon  to 
make  contracts  with  Western  range  cattle  companies 
who  have  their  headquarters  there,  for  the  slaughtering 
of  their  cattle. 

The  soup  scheme  evidently  died  stillborn,  for 
history  records  nothing  further  of  it,  and  less  than 
three  months  after  the  National  Consumers'  Com- 
pany was  founded  with  blare  of  trumpets,  it  had 


450       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

collapsed.  It  was  characteristic  of  von  Hoffman, 
whose  fortune  was  behind  the  undertaking,  that  he 
paid  back  every  subscriber  to  the  stock  in  full.  If 
any  one  was  to  lose,  he  intimated,  it  was  von  Hoff- 
man. But,  having  settled  with  the  creditors  of  his 
expensive  son-in-law,  he  explained  to  that  gentle- 
man, in  words  which  could  not  be  misunderstood, 
that  he  would  have  no  more  of  his  schemes.  Von 
Hoffman  thereupon  betook  himself  to  Europe,  and 
the  Marquis  to  Medora. 

His  optimism  remained  indomitable  to  the  last. 
To  reporters  he  denied  vigorously  that  he  had  any 
intentions  "  of  removing  his  business  interests  from 
Dakota." 

"  I  like  Dakota  and  have  come  to  stay,"  he  re- 
marked. Thereupon  he  launched  one  more  gran- 
diose scheme,  announcing  that  he  had  discovered  a 
gold  mine  in  Montana  and  was  planning  to  begin 
working  it  for  all  it  was  worth  as  soon  as  his  pro- 
spectors had  completed  their  labors;  and  sailed  for 
India  with  his  intrepid  Marquise  to  hunt  tigers. 

Dakota  knew  him  no  more,  and  under  the  head- 
ing, "  An  Ex-Dakota  Dreamer,"  the  Sioux  Falls 
Press  pronounced  his  epitaph: 

The  Marquis  is  a  most  accomplished  dreamer,  and 
so  long  as  his  fortune  lasted,  or  his  father-in-law,  Baron 
von  Hoffman,  would  put  up  the  money,  he  could  afford 
to  dream.  He  once  remarked  confidentially  to  a  friend, 
"  I  veel  make  ze  millions  and  millions  by  ze  great  enter- 
prizes  in  America,  and  zen  I  veel  go  home  to  France, 
and  veel  capture  my  comrades  in  ze  French  armee,  an 
veel  plot  and  plan,  and  directly  zey  veel  put  me  in  com- 


THE  FADING  OF  MEDORA  451 

mand,  and  zen  I  veel  swoop  down  on  ze  government, 
and  first  zing  you  know  I  veel  mount  the  zrone."  One 
time  his  agent  at  Medora,  his  ranch  on  the  Northern 
Pacific,  wrote  him  at  Nfew  York  about  the  loss  of  three 
thousand  head  of  sheep,  the  letter  going  into  all  the 
details  of  the  affair.  The  Marquis  turned  the  sheet  over 
and  wrote,  "  Please  don't  trouble  me  with  trifles  like 
these."  He  is  a  very  pleasant  gentleman  to  meet,  but 
unfortunately  his  schemes  are  bigger  than  he  is. 

Medora  was  a  town  whose  glory  had  departed.  A 
pall  was  on  all  things,  and  the  Cowboy  was  no  longer 
present  to  dispel  it  with  the  cheerful  optimism  of  old. 
For,  one  night,  when  the  cold  was  most  bitter,  and 
the  wind  was  high,  a  fire  had  started  in  the  old 
cantonment  building  where  Packard  lived  with  his 
newly  wedded  wife,  and  printed  the  pages  that  had 
for  three  years  brought  gayety  to  the  inhabitants  of 
Medora,  and  stability  to  its  infant  institutions.  The 
files  were  burned  up,  the  presses  destroyed;  the 
Cowboy  was  a  memory.  It  was  as  though  the  soul 
of  Medora  had  gone  out  of  its  racked  body.  The 
remains  lay  rigid  and  voiceless. 

One  by  one  its  leading  citizens  deserted  it.  Roose- 
velt came  and  went,  making  his  long  stays  no  longer 
in  the  West,  but  in  the  East,  where  "  home  "  was 
now.  Packard  went,  then  Fisher,  then  Van  Driesche. 

[J.  C.  Maunders,]  of  Medora  [runs  an  item  in  the 
Dickinson  Press],  is  talking  of  moving  two  or  three  of 
his  buildings  from  there  to  Dickinson. 

It  was  followed  by  other  items  full  of  mournful 
import. 


452       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

[J.  C.  Maunders,]  [Joseph  Morrill,]  and  John  W.  Goodall, 
of  Medora,  were  here  Thursday  and  closed  contracts 
for  several  lots.  They  will  build. 

Two  weeks  later,  the  exodus  began.  The  telling 
of  it  has  a  Shaksperean  flavor: 

Medora  is  coming  to  Dickinson.  On  Thursday  a  train 
came  in  from  the  west  with  a  number  of  flat-cars  on 
which  were  loaded  the  buildings  of  [J.  C.  Maunders,]  who 
recently  bought  lots  here. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  Pyramid  Park  Hotel,  where 
Roosevelt  had  spent  his  first  night  in  Little  Missouri, 
four  years  previous,  came  to  Dickinson  to  become  a 
most  respectable  one-family  dwelling.  Mrs.  Mc- 
Geeney's  hotel  followed  it  two  weeks  later. 

In  August  came  the  final  blow: 

D.  O.  Sweet  and  family  have  moved  from  Medora  to 
Dickinson.  Mr.  Sweet  desired  to  reside  where  there 
was  some  life  and  prospect  of  growth. 

Alas,  for  earthly  greatness,  when  a  son  of  the 
town  that  was  to  rival  Omaha  should  desert  her 
with  such  a  valedictory! 


XXV II 

The  range  is  empty  and  the  trails  are  blind, 

And  I  don't  seem  but  half  myself  to-day. 
I  wait  to  hear  him  ridin'  up  behind 

And  feel  his  knee  rub  mine  the  good  old  way. 
He's  dead  —  and  what  that  means  no  man  kin  tell. 

Some  call  it  "gone  before." 
Where?   I  don't  know,  but,  God!  I  know  so  well 

That  he  ain't  here  no  more! 

Badger  Clark 

This,  then,  is  the  story  of  Roosevelt  in  the  Bad 
Lands.  What  remains  is  epilogue. 

In  the  autumn  of  1887,  Roosevelt  was  again  with 
the  Merrifields  at  Elkhorn  and  with  Sylvane  at  the 
Maltese  Cross,  to  assist  in  the  round-up  of  a  train- 
load  of  cattle  which  he  subsequently  sold  at  Chicago 
(again  at  a  loss,  for  the  prices  for  beef  were  even 
lower  than  the  previous  year).  He  went  on  a  brief 
hunt  after  antelope  in  the  broken  country  between 
the  Little  Missouri  and  the  Beaver;  he  fought  a 
raging  prairie  fire  with  the  split  and  bleeding  car- 
cass of  a  steer;  he  went  on  another  hunt  late  in 
December  with  a  new  friend  named  Fred  Herrig, 
and  was  nearly  frozen  to  death  in  a  blizzard,  at- 
tempting (not  without  success)  to  shoot  mountain 
sheep;  whereupon,  feeling  very  fit,  he  returned  East 
to  his  family  and  his  books. 

He  was  now  increasingly  busy  with  his  writing, 
completing  that  winter  a  volume  of  vigorous 
sketches  of  the  frontier,  called  "Ranch  Life  and 
the  Hunting  Trail,"  beside  his  "  Life  of  Gouverneur 


454       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Morris,"  and  a  book  of  "  Essays  on  Practical 
Politics."  In  the  autumn  of  1888,  he  was  again  at 
Elkhorn  and  again  on  the  chase,  this  time  in  the 
Selkirks  in  northern  Idaho,  camping  on  Kootenai 
Lake,  and  from  there  on  foot  with  a  pack  on  his 
back,  ranging  among  the  high  peaks  with  his  old 
guide  John  Willis  and  an  Indian  named  Ammal,  who 
was  pigeon-toed  and  mortally  afraid  of  hobgoblins. 

In  1889  he  became  a  member  of  the  Civil  Service 
Commission  in  Washington,  and  thereafter  he  saw 
the  Bad  Lands  only  once  a  year,  fleeing  from  his 
desk  to  the  open  country  every  autumn  for  a  touch 
of  the  old  wild  life  and  a  glimpse  of  the  old  friends 
who  yet  lingered  in  that  forsaken  country. 

Medora  had  all  the  desolation  of  "  a  busted  cow- 
town  "  whose  inhabitants,  as  one  cowpuncher  re- 
marked in  answer  to  a  tenderfoot's  inquiry,  were 
"  eleven,  including  the  chickens,  when  they  were  all 
in  town."  All  of  the  wicked  men  and  most  of  the 
virtuous  ones,  who  had  lent  picturesqueness  to 
Medora  in  the  old  days,  were  gone.  Sylvane  Ferris 
still  lingered  as  foreman  of  the  cattle  which  Roose- 
velt still  retained  in  the  Bad  Lands,  and  Joe  Ferris 
still  ran  his  store,  officiated  as  postmaster,  and  kept 
a  room  for  Roosevelt  on  his  infrequent  visits.  Bill 
Williams  shot  a  man  and  went  to  jail,  and  with  him 
went  the  glory  of  his  famous  saloon.  Of  his  old 
cronies,  Hell-Roaring  Bill  Jones  only  remained. 
He  was  a  man  of  authority  now,  for  he  had  been 
elected  sheriff  when  Joe  Morrill  moved  his  lares  et 
penates  to   Dickinson.    His   relations  with   Roose- 


BILL  JONES  455 

velt  criss-crossed,  for,  as  sheriff,  Roosevelt  was  his 
deputy,  but  whenever  Roosevelt  went  on  an  ex- 
tended hunting  trip,  Hell-Roaring  Bill  Jones  was 
his  teamster.  He  was,  incidentally,  an  extraordi- 
narily efficient  teamster.  He  had  certain  profane 
rituals  which  he  repeated  on  suitable  occasions,  word 
for  word,  but  with  an  emphasis  and  sincerity  that 
made  them  sound  each  time  as  though  he  had  in- 
vented them  under  the  inspiration  of  the  immediate 
necessity.  He  had  a  special  torrent  of  obscenity  for 
his  team  when  they  were  making  a  difficult  crossing 
somewhere  on  the  Little  Missouri.  It  was  always 
the  same  succession  of  terrifying  expletives,  and  it 
always  had  the  desired  effect.  It  worked  better  than 
a  whip. 

Meanwhile,  the  devotion  of  Bill  Jones  to  Theodore 
Roosevelt  was  a  matter  of  common  report  through- 
out the  countryside,  and  it  was  said  that  he  once 
stayed  sober  all  summer  in  order  to  be  fit  to  go  on  a 
hunting  trip  with  Roosevelt  in  the  fall. 

Sylvane  married,  like  his  "  partners  "  going  for 
his  bride  to  New  Brunswick,  whose  supply  of  delight- 
ful young  ladies  seemed  to  be  inexhaustible.  They 
went  to  live  in  a  "  martin's  cage,"  as  they  called  it, 
under  the  bluff  at  Medora,  and  there  Roosevelt 
visited  them,  after  Joe  moved  to  Montana  and  his 
store  passed  into  other  hands.  The  Langs  remained 
at  Yule.  After  the  evil  winter.  Sir  James  Pender 
threw  them  upon  their  own  resources,  and  the  years 
that  followed  were  hard.  Lang  had  long  recognized 
the  mistake  he  had  made  in  not  accepting  Roose- 


456       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

velt's  offer  that  September  of  1883,  and  the  matter 
remained  a  sore  subject  for  Mrs.  Lang,  who  never 
ceased  regretting  the  lapse  of  judgment  which  had 
made  her  otherwise  excellent  husband  miss  what  she 
knew,  as  soon  as  she  met  Roosevelt,  had  been  the 
greatest  opportunity  which  Gregor  Lang  would 
ever  have  placed  in  his  hands.  Lang,  as  county  com- 
missioner, became  an  important  factor  in  the  devel- 
opment of  the  county,  and  his  ranch  flourished. 
Lincoln  Lang  turned  to  engineering  and  became  an 
inventor.  He  went  East  to  live,  but  his  heart  re- 
mained among  the  buttes  where  he  had  spent  his 
adventurous  boyhood. 

The  Eatons  forsook  the  punching  of  cattle,  and 
engaged  in  "  dude  "  ranching  on  a  grand  scale,  and 
the  "  Eaton  Ranch  "  began  to  be  famous  from  coast 
to  coast  even  before  they  moved  to  Wolf,  Wyoming, 
in  the  foothills  of  the  Big  Horn  Mountains.  Mrs. 
Cummins  drifted  away  with  her  family,  carrying, 
no  doubt,  her  discontent  with  her.  Lloyd  Roberts 
disappeared,  as  though  the  earth  had  swallowed 
him,  murdered,  it  was  supposed,  in  Cheyenne,  after 
he  had  loaned  Bill  Williams  seven  hundred  dollars. 
Mrs.  Roberts  was  not  daunted.  She  kept  the  little 
ranch  on  Sloping  Bottom  and  fed  and  clothed  and 
educated  her  five  daughters  by  her  own  unaided 
efforts.  The  Vines,  father  and  son,  drifted  eastward. 
Packard  and  Dantz  took  to  editing  newspapers, 
Packard  in  Montana,  Dantz  in  Pennsylvania. 
Edgar  Haupt  became  a  preacher,  and  Herman 
Haupt  a  physician.    Fisher  grew  prosperous  in  the 


LINCOLN  LANG 


WILLIAM  T.  DANTZ 


MARGARET  ROBERTS 


"DUTCH  WANNIGAN' 


OLD  FRIENDS  457 

State  of  Washington;  Maunders  throve  mightily  in 
Dickinson;  Wilmot  Dow  died  young;  Bill  Sewall 
resumed  his  life  in  Maine  as  a  backwoodsman  and 
guide;  Foley  remained  custodian  of  the  deserted 
de  Mores  property  at  Medora;  "Redhead"  Fin- 
negan  was  hanged. 

Poor  "Dutch  "  Van  Zander  drank  up  his  last 
remittance.  "  There,"  he  cried,  "  I  have  blown  in  a 
hundred  and  twenty  thousand  dollars,  but  I've 
given  the  boys  a  whale  of  a  good  time!  "  He  gave 
up  drinking  thereafter  and  went  to  work  for  the 
"Three  Seven"  outfit  as  an  ordinary  cowhand.  He 
became  a  good  worker,  but  when  the  call  of  gold  in 
Alaska  sounded,  he  responded  and  was  seen  no  more 
in  his  old  haunts.  A  few  years  later  he  appeared 
again  for  a  day,  saying  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  his 
old  home  in  Holland.  A  month  or  two  later  news  fil- 
tered into  Medora  that  the  brilliant  and  most  lov- 
able Dutch  patrician's  son  had  been  found,  dead  by 
his  own  hand,  in  a  cemetery  in  Amsterdam,  lying 
across  his  mother's  grave. 

Twice  Roosevelt's  path  crossed  Joe  Morrill's, 
and  each  time  there  was  conflict.  Morrill  opened  a 
butcher-shop  in  a  town  not  far  from  Medora,  and 
it  devolved  on  Roosevelt,  as  chairman  of  the  Stock- 
men's Association,  to  inform  him  that,  unless  he 
changed  his  manner  of  acquiring  the  beef  he  sold,  he 
would  promptly  go  to  jail.  The  shifty  swashbuckler 
closed  his  shop,  and  not  long  after,  Roosevelt,  who 
was  at  the  time  serving  on  the  Civil  Service  Com- 
mission in  Washington,  heard  that  Morrill  was  en- 


458      ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

deavoring  to  have  himself  made  marshal  of  one  of  the 
Northwestern  States.  The  "  reference  "  Roosevelt 
gave  him  on  that  occasion  was  effective.  Morrill 
was  not  appointed;  and  what  happened  to  him 
thereafter  is  lost  to  history. 

In  1890,  Roosevelt  was  at  the  ranch  at  Elkhorn 
with  Mrs.  Roosevelt;  a  year  later  he  hunted  elk  with 
an  English  friend,  R.  H.  M.  Ferguson,  at  Two 
Ocean  Pass  in  the  Shoshones,  in  northwestern  Wy- 
oming. That  autumn  the  Merrifields  moved  to  the 
Flathead  country  in  northwestern  Montana,  and 
Roosevelt  closed  the  ranch-house.  A  year  later  he 
returned  to  Elkhorn  for  a  week's  hunting.  The 
wild  forces  of  nature  had  already  taken  possession. 
The  bunch-grass  grew  tall  in  the  yard  and  on  the 
sodded  roofs  of  the  stables  and  sheds;  the  weather- 
beaten  log  walls  of  the  house  itself  were  one  in  tint 
with  the  trunks  of  the  gnarled  cottonwoods  by 
which  it  was  shaded.  "  The  ranch-house  is  in  good 
repair,"  he  wrote  to  Bill  Sewall,  "  but  it  is  melan- 
choly to  see  it  deserted." 

Early  the  next  spring  Roosevelt  took  Archibald  D. 
Russell,  R.  H.  M.  Ferguson,  and  his  brother-in-law 
Douglas  Robinson  into  partnership  with  him  and 
formed  the  Elkhorn  Stock  Company,  transferring 
his  equity  in  the  Elkhorn  Ranch  to  the  new 
corporation.^ 

It  was  at  the  end  of  a  wagon-trip  to  the  Black 
Hills,  which  Roosevelt  took  with  Sylvane  and  Hell- 

^  See  Appendix  for  a  statement  of  Roosevelt's  cattle  invest- 
ment. 


SETH  BULLOCK  459 

Roaring  Bill  Jones  in  1893,  that  Roosevelt  met  Seth 
Bullock. 

Seth  was  at  that  time  sheriff  in  the  Black  Hills  district 
[wrote  Roosevelt  in  his  "  Autobiography  "J,  and  a  man 
he  had  wanted  —  a  horse-thief  —  I  finally  got,  I  being 
at  the  time  deputy  sheriff  two  or  three  hundred  miles 
to  the  north.  The  man  went  by  a  nickname  which  I 
will  call  "  Crazy  Steve."  It  was  some  time  after 
"  Steve's  "  capture  that  I  went  down  to  Deadwood  on 
business,  Sylvane  Ferris  and  I  on  horseback,  while 
Bill  Jones  drove  the  wagon.  At  a  little  town,  Spearfish, 
I  think,  after  crossing  the  last  eighty  or  ninety  miles  of 
gumbo  prairie,  we  met  Seth  Bullock.  We  had  had  rather 
a  rough  trip,  and  had  lain  out  for  a  fortnight,  so. I  suppose 
we  looked  somewhat  unkempt.  Seth  received  us  with 
rather  distant  courtesy  at  first,  but  unbent  when  he 
found  out  who  we  were,  remarking,  **  You  see,  by  your 
looks  I  thought  you  were  some  kind  of  a  tin-horn  gambling 
outfit,  and  that  I  might  have  to  keep  an  eye  on  you!  " 
He  then  inquired  after  the  capture  of  "  Steve  "  —  with 
a  little  of  the  air  of  one  sportsman  when  another  has 
shot  a  quail  that  either  might  have  claimed  —  "  My 
bird,  I  believe? " 

In  a  letter  to  John  Hay,  Roosevelt  described  that 
meeting. 

When  somebody  asked  Seth  Bullock  to  meet  us,  he 
at  first  expressed  disinclination.  Then  he  was  told  that 
I  was  the  Civil  Service  Commissioner,  upon  which  he 
remarked  genially,  "  Well,  anything  civil  goes  with 
me,"  and  strolled  over  to  be  introduced. 

During  these  years,  while  Roosevelt  was  working 
on  the  Civil  Service  Commission,  fighting  the  spoils- 
men and  rousing  the  conscience  of  the  American 


46o       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

people  with  a  new  ideal  of  public  service,  even  while 
he  stimulated  their  national  pride  with  a  fresh  ex- 
pression of  the  American  spirit,  his  old  rival,  the 
Marquis  de  Mores,  was  noticeably  stirring  the  Old 
World.  A  year  in  India  had  been  succeeded  by  a 
long  stay  in  China,  where  the  Marquis  had  conceived 
a  scheme  to  secure  concessions  for  France,  which 
somehow  went  the  way  of  all  the  Marquis's  schemes; 
nothing  came  of  it. 

He  returned  to  France.  The  French  people  were 
in  a  restless,  unhappy  state.  More  than  once,  war 
with  Germany  seemed  imminent.  The  Government 
was  shot  through  with  intrigue  and  corruption.  The 
Marquis,  with  all  the  faults  of  his  temperament,  was 
an  idealist,  with  a  noble  vision  for  his  country.  He 
saw  that  it  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  base,  self- 
seeking  men,  and  he  grasped  at  every  means  that 
presented  itself  to  overthrow  the  powers  that  seemed 
to  him  to  be  corrupting  and  enfeebling  France.  He 
became  an  enthusiastic  follower  of  Boulanger;  when 
Boulanger  fell,  he  became  a  violent  anti-Semite, 
and  shortly  after,  a  radical  Socialist.  Meanwhile, 
he  fought  one  duel  after  another,  on  one  occasion 
killing  his  man.  More  than  once  he  came  into  con- 
flict with  the  law,  and  once  was  imprisoned  for 
three  months,  accused  of  inciting  the  populace  to 
violence  against  the  army.  There  were  rumors  of 
plots  with  the  royalists  and  plots  with  the  anar- 
chists. It  did  not  apparently  seem  of  particular  im- 
portance to  the  Marquis  by  whom  the  Government 
was  overthrown,  so  it  was  overthrown. 


DEATH  OF  THE  MARQUIS  461 

His  plans  did  not  prosper.  Anti-Semitism  grew 
beyond  his  control.  The  Dreyfus  affair  broke,  and 
set  the  very  foundations  of  France  quivering.  What 
the  Marquis's  part  in  it  was,  is  obscure,  but  it  was 
said  that  he  was  deeply  involved. 

His  attention  was  turning  in  another  direction. 
France  and  England  were  struggling  for  the  posses- 
sion of  Central  Africa,  and  the  Marquis  conceived 
the  grandiose  dream  of  uniting  all  the  Mohamme- 
dans of  the  world  against  England.  He  went  to 
Tunis  in  the  spring  of  1896,  commissioned,  it  was 
said,  by  the  French  Government  to  lead  an  expedi- 
tion into  the  Soudan  to  incite  the  Arabs  to  resist  the 
English  advance  in  Africa. 

Whether  the  Marquis  actually  had  the  support  of 
the  Government  is  more  than  dubious.  When  he  set 
out  on  his  expedition  to  the  wild  tribes  of  the  Tuni- 
sian desert,  he  set  out  practically  alone.  At  the  last 
moment,  the  Marquis  changed  his  Arab  escort  for 
a  number  of  Touaregs,  who  offered  him  their  serv- 
ices. They  were  a  wild,  untrustworthy  race,  and 
men  who  knew  the  country  pleaded  with  him  not 
to  trust  himself  to  them.  But  the  Marquis,  who 
had  prided  himself  on  his  judgment  in  Little  Mis- 
souri in  1883,  had  not  changed  his  spots  in  1896. 
His  camel-drivers  led  him  into  an  ambush  near  the 
well  of  El  Ouatia.  He  carried  himself  like  the  game 
fighting  man  that  he  had  always  been,  and  there 
was  a  ring  of  dead  men  around  him  when  he  himself 
finally  succumbed. 

Nineteen  days  later  an  Arab  official,  sent  out  by 


462       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

the  French  military  commander  of  the  district,  found 
his  body  riddled  with  wounds  and  buried  in  the 
sand  near  a  clump  of  bushes  close  to  where  he  had 
fallen.   His  funeral  in  Paris  was  a  public  event. 

It  was  a  tragic  but  a  fitting  close  to  a  dreamer's 
romantic  career.  But  the  end  was  not  yet,  and  the 
romance  connected  with  the  Marquis  de  Mores  was 
not  yet  complete.  The  investigation  into  his  death 
which  the  French  Government  ordered  was  aban- 
doned without  explanation.  The  Marquis's  widow 
protested,  accusing  the  Government  of  complicity 
in  her  husband's  death,  and  charging  that  those  who 
had  murdered  the  Marquis  were  native  agents  of 
the  French  authorities  and  had  been  acting  under 
orders. 

The  Marquise  herself  went  to  Tunis,  determined 
that  the  assassins  of  her  husband  should  be  brought 
to  justice.  There  is  a  ring  in  her  proclamation  to 
the  Arabs  which  might  well  have  made  the  stripped 
bones  of  the  Marquis  stir  in  their  leaden  cofBn. 

In  behalf  of  the  illustrious,  distinguished,  and  noble 
lady,  the  Marquise  of  Mores,  wife  of  the  deceased 
object  of  God's  pity,  the  Marquis  of  Mores,  who  was 
betrayed  and  murdered  at  El  Ouatia,  in  the  country 
of  Ghadames,  salutations,  penitence,  and  the  benediction 
of  God! 

Let  it  herewith  be  known  to  all  faithful  ones  that  I 
place  myself  in  the  hands  of  God  and  of  you,  because 
I  know  you  to  be  manly,  energetic,  and  courageous. 
I  appeal  to  you  to  help  me  avenge  the  death  of  my 
husband  by  punishing  his  assassins.  I  am  a  woman. 
Vengeance  cannot  be  wreaked  by  my  own  hand.   For 


ROOSEVELT'S  PROGRESS  463 

this  reason  I  inform  you,  and  swear  to  you,  by  the  one 
Almighty  God,  that  to  whosoever  shall  capture  and 
deliver  to  the  authorities  at  El-Qued,  at  Ouargia,  or  at 
El-Goleah  one  of  my  husband's  assassins  I  will  give 
1000  douros  (^750),  2000  douros  for  two  assassins,  3000 
douros  for  three  assassins.  As  to  the  principal  assassins, 
Bechaoui  and  Sheik  Ben  Abdel  Kader,  I  will  give  2000 
douros  for  each  of  them.  And  now,  understand,  make 
yourselves  ready,  and  may  God  give  you  success. 

Marquise  de  Mores 

The  murderers  were  captured,  convicted,  and  ex- 
ecuted. Then  the  little  American  woman,  with  her 
hair  of  Titian  red,  whom  the  cowboys  of  Little  Mis- 
souri had  christened  "  The  Queen  of  the  West," 
quietly  withdrew  from  the  public  gaze;  and  the 
curtain  fell  on  a  great  romantic  drama. 

Theodore  Roosevelt  was  just  coming  into  national 
eminence  as  Police  Commissioner  of  New  York  City 
when  the  Marquis  de  Mores  died  beside  the  well  of 
El  Ouatia.  As  a  member  of  the  Civil  Service  Com- 
mission in  Washington  he  had  caught  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  American  people,  and  a  growing  number 
of  patriotic  men  and  women,  scattered  over  the 
country,  began  to  look  upon  him  as  the  leader  they 
had  been  longing  for.  He  came  to  Medora  no  more 
for  the  round-up  or  the  chase. 

In  May,  1897,  Roosevelt  became  Assistant  Sec- 
retary of  the  Navy.  Less  than  a  year  later  the 
Spanish  War  broke  out.  The  dream  he  had  dreamed 
in  1 886  of  a  regiment  recruited  from  the  wild  horse- 
men of  the  plains  became  a  reality.  From  the  Can- 
adian border  to  the  Rio  Grande,  the  men  he  had 


464       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

lived  and  worked  with  on  the  round-up,  and  thou- 
sands of  others  whose  imaginations  had  been  seized 
by  the  stories  of  his  courage  and  endurance,  which 
had  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  and  from  camp- 
fire  to  camp-fire  through  the  cattle  country,  offered 
their  services.  The  Rough  Riders  were  organized, 
and  what  they  accomplished  is  history.  There  were 
unquestionably  more  weighty  reasons  why  he  should 
become  Governor  of  New  York  State  than  that  he 
had  been  the  successful  leader  of  an  aggregation 
of  untamed  gunmen  in  Cuba.  But  it  was  that  fact 
in  his  career  which  caught  the  fancy  of  the  voters, 
and  by  a  narrow  margin  elected  him  a  Republican 
Governor  of  his  State  in  what,  as  everybody  knew, 
was  a  "  Democratic  year." 

The  men  and  women  of  the  Bad  Lands,  scattered 
far  and  wide  over  the  Northwest,  watched  his  prog- 
ress with  a  glowing  feeling  in  their  hearts  that  was 
akin  to  the  pride  that  a  father  feels  at  the  greatness 
of  a  son  whom  he  himself  has  guided  in  the  way  that 
he  should  go.  There  was  none  of  them  but  felt  that 
he  had  had  a  personal  share  in  the  making  of  this 
man  who  was  beginning  to  loom  larger  and  larger 
on  the  national  horizon.  They  had  been  his  mentors, 
and  inasmuch  as  they  had  shown  him  how  to  tighten 
a  saddle  cinch  or  quiet  a  restless  herd,  they  felt  that 
they  had  had  a  part  in  the  building  of  his  character. 
They  had  a  great  pride,  moreover,  in  the  bit  of 
country  where  they  had  spent  their  ardent  youth, 
and  they  felt  assured  that  the  experiences  which 
had  thrilled  and  deepened  them,  had  thrilled  and 


RETURN  AS  GOVERNOR  465 

deepened  him  also.  In  their  hearts  they  felt  that 
they  knew  something  of  what  had  made  him — "  the 
smell,  the  singing  prairies,  the  spirit  that  thrilled  the 
senses  there,  the  intoxicating  exhilaration,  the  awful 
silences,  the  mysterious  hazes,  the  entrancing  sun- 
sets, the  great  storms  and  blizzards,  the  quiet,  en- 
during people,  the  great,  unnoted  tragedies,  the 
cheer,  the  humor,  the  hospitality,  the  lure  of  fortunes 
at  the  end  of  rainbows"  — all  those  things  they  felt 
had  joined  to  build  America's  great  new  leader;  and 
they,  who  had  experienced  these  things  with  him, 
felt  that  they  were  forever  closer  to  him  than  his 
other  countrymen  could  ever  possibly  be. 

Roosevelt  was  nominated  for  the  vice-presidency 
in  June,  1900,  and  in  July  he  began  a  campaign  tour 
over  the  country  which  eclipsed  even  Bryan's  prodi- 
gious journeyings  of  1896.  Early  in  September  he 
came  to  Dakota. 

Joe  Ferris  was  the  first  to  greet  him  after  he 
crossed  the  border  at  a  way-station  at  six  o'clock  in 
the  morning.^ 

"  Joe,  old  boy,"  cried  Roosevelt  exuberantly, 
"  will  you  ever  forget  the  first  time  we  met?  " 

Joe  admitted  that  he  would  not. 

"You  nearly  murdered  me.  It  seemed  as  if  all 
the  ill-luck  in  the  world  pursued  us." 

Joe  grinned. 

"Do  you  remember  too,  Joe,"  exclaimed  Roose- 
velt, "  how  I  swam  the  swollen  stream  and  you  stood 

^  The  account  of  Roosevelt's  triumphant  return  to  Medora  is 
taken  verbatim  from  contemporary  newspapers. 


466       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

on  the  bank  and  kept  your  eyes  on  me?  The  stream 
was  very  badly  flooded  when  I  came  to  it,"  said  the 
Governor,  turning  to  the  group  that  had  gathered 
about  them.  "  I  forced  my  horse  into  it  and  we 
swam  for  the  other  bank.  Joe  was  very  much  dis- 
tressed for  fear  we  would  not  get  across." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  taken  that  swim  for  all  of 
Dakota,"  said  Joe. 

At  Dickinson,  a  gray-faced,  lean  man  pushed  his 
way  through  the  crowd.  It  was  Maunders,  who  had 
prospered,  in  spite  of  his  evil  ways.  "  Why,"  ex- 
claimed Roosevelt,  "  it  does  me  good  to  see  you. 
You  remember  when  I  needed  a  hammer  so  badly 
and  you  loaned  it  to  me?  You  loaned  me  a  rifle  also. 
I  never  shall  forget  how  badly  I  needed  that  hammer 
just  then." 

Maunders,  who  had  always  been  affable,  grinned 
with  delight  and  joined  the  Governor's  party. 

The  train  moved  on  to  Medora.  Roosevelt  and 
Joe  Ferris  sat  by  the  window,  and  it  seemed  that 
every  twisted  crag  and  butte  reminded  them  of  the 
days  when  they  had  ridden  over  that  wild  country 
together. 

As  the  train  neared  Medora,  Roosevelt  was  pal- 
pably moved.  "The  romance  of  my  life  began  here," 
he  said. 

There  were  forty  or  fifty  people  at  the  station  in 
Medora.  They  hung  back  bashfully,  but  he  was 
among  them  in  an  instant. 

"Why,  this  is  Mrs.  Roberts!"  he  exclaimed, 
"You  have  not  changed  a  bit,  have  you?  " 


MEDORA  CELEBRATES  467 

She  drew  his  attention  to  George  Myers,  who  was 
all  smiles. 

"  My,  my,  George  Myers!  "  exclaimed  Roosevelt, 
"  I  did  not  even  hope  to  see  you."  Roosevelt  turned 
to  the  crowd.  "George  used  to  cook  for  me,"  he 
said,  with  a  wry  expression. 

"Do  you  remember  the  time  I  made  green  bis- 
cuits for  you?  "  asked  George,  with  a  grin. 

"  I  do,"  said  Roosevelt  emphatically,  "  I  do, 
George.  And  I  remember  the  time  you  fried  the 
beans  with  rosin  instead  of  lard.  The  best  proof  in 
the  world,  George,  that  I  have  a  good  constitution 
is  that  I  ate  your  cooking  and  survived." 

"  Well,  now,  Governor,"  exclaimed  George,  "  I 
was  thinking  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  get  that  man 
Bryan  up  here  and  see  what  that  kind  of  biscuit 
would  do  for  him." 

Roosevelt  looked  about  him,  where  the  familiar 
buttes  stretched  gray  and  bleak  in  every  direction. 
"  It  does  not  seem  right,"  he  exclaimed,  "  that  I 
should  come  here  and  not  stay." 

Some  one  brought  a  bronco  for  Roosevelt.  A 
minute  later  he  was  galloping  eastward  toward  the 
trail  leading  up  to  the  bluff  that  rose  a  thousand 
feet  behind  Medora.  "  Over  there  is  Square  Butte," 
he  cried  eagerly,  "  and  over  there  is  Sentinel  Butte. 
My  ranch  was  at  Chimney  Butte.  Just  this  side  of 
it  is  the  trail  where  Custer  marched  westward  to  the 
Yellowstone  and  the  Rosebud  to  his  death.  There 
is  the  church  especially  erected  for  the  use  of  the 
wife  of  the  Marquis  de  Mores.  His  old  house  is 
beyond.   You  can  see  it." 


468       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

For  a  minute  he  sat  silent.  "  Looking  back  to  my 
old  days  here,"  he  said,  "  I  can  paraphrase  Kipling 
and  say,  'Whatever  may  happen,  I  can  thank  God 
I  have  lived  and  toiled  with  men.'" 

Roosevelt  was  inaugurated  as  Vice-President  in 
March,  1901.  Six  months  later  he  was  President  of 
the  United  States.  From  a  venturesome  cowpuncher 
who  made  his  way  shyly  into  the  White  House,  the 
glad  tidings  were  spread  to  the  Bad  Lands  and 
through  the  whole  Northwest  that  Roosevelt  was 
the  same  Roosevelt,  and  that  everybody  had 
better  take  a  trip  to  Washington  as  soon  as  he 
could,  for  orders  had  gone  forth  that  "the  cowboy 
bunch  can  come  in  whenever  they  want  to." 

Occasionally  one  or  the  other  had  difficulty  in 
getting  past  the  guards.  It  took  Sylvane  two  days, 
once,  to  convince  the  doorkeeper  that  the  President 
wanted  to  see  him.  Roosevelt  was  indignant.  "  The 
next  time  they  don't  let  you  in,  Sylvane,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  you  just  shoot  through  the  windows." 

No  one  shot  through  the  windows.  It  was  never 
necessary.  The  cowboys  dined  at  the  President's 
table  with  Cabinet  ministers  and  ambassadors. 

"  Remember,  Jim,  that  if  you  shot  at  the  feet  of 
the  British  Ambassador'  to  make  him  dance," 
Roosevelt  whispered  to  one  of  his  cowboy  guests  on 
one  occasion,  "  it  would  be  likely  to  cause  inter- 
national complications." 

"Why,  Colonel,  I  shouldn't  think  of  it,"  ex- 
claimed Jim.  "  I  shouldn't  think  of  it!  " 

The  cowpunchers  were  the  only  ones  who  refused 


THE  COWBOY  BUNCH  469 

to  take  altogether  seriously  the  tradition  that  an 
invitation  to  the  White  House  was  equivalent  to  a 
command.  John  Willis  on  one  occasion  came  down 
from  Montana  to  discuss  reclamation  with  the 
President,  and  Roosevelt  asked  him  to  take  dinner  at 
the  White  House  that  night.  Willis  murmured  that 
he  did  not  have  a  dress-suit,  and  it  would  not  do  to 
dine  with  the  President  of  the  United  States  "  unless 
he  were  togged  out  proper." 

"  Oh,  that  needn't  bother  you,"  exclaimed  the 
President. 

"  It  makes  a  heap  of  difference,"  said  Willis.  "  I 
may  not  always  do  the  right  thing,  but  I  know 
what's  proper." 

"  You  would  be  just  as  welcome  at  my  table  if 
you  came  in  buckskin  trousers." 

"  I  know  that's  true,"  Willis  replied,  "  but  I  guess 
I  will  have  to  side-step  this  trip.  If  you  are  taking 
any  horseback  rides  out  on  the  trail  here  to-morrow, 
I'm  your  man,  but  I  guess  I  will  get  my  grub  down- 
town at  the  hashery  where  I'm  bunking." 

That  was  all  there  was  to  it.  John  Willis  could 
not  be  persuaded. 

Once  more,  for  the  last  time,  Roosevelt  in  1903 
went  back  to  Medora.  As  they  came  into  the  Bad 
Lands,  he  stood  on  the  rear  platform  of  his  car, 
gazing  wistfully  over  the  forbidding-looking  land- 
scape. 

"  I  know  all  this  country  like  a  book,"  he  said 
to  John  Burroughs,  who  was  beside  him.  "  I  have 
ridden  over  it  and  hunted  in  it  and  tramped  over  it 


470       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

in  all  seasons  and  weather,  and  it  looks  like  home 
to  me." 

As  soon  as  I  got  west  of  the  Missouri  I  came  into  my 
own  former  stamping-ground  [he  wrote  to  John  Hay, 
describing  that  visit].  At  every  station  there  was  some- 
body who  remembered  my  riding  in  there  when  the 
Little  Missouri  round-up  went  down  to  the  Indian 
reservation  and  then  worked  north  across  the  Cannon 
Ball  and  up  Knife  and  Green  Rivers;  or  who  had  been 
an  interested  and  possibly  malevolent  spectator  when  I 
had  ridden  east  with  other  representatives  of  the  cowmen 
to  hold  a  solemn  council  with  the  leading  grangers  on 
the  vexed  subject  of  mavericks;  or  who  had  been  hired 
as  a  train-hand  when  I  had  been  taking  a  load  of  cattle 
to  Chicago,  and  who  remembered  well  how  he  and  I  at 
the  stoppages  had  run  frantically  down  the  line  of  the 
cars  and  with  our  poles  jabbed  the  unfortunate  cattle 
who  had  lain  down  until  they  again  stood  up,  and  thereby 
gave  themselves  a  chance  for  their  lives;  and  who 
remembered  how  when  the  train  started  we  had  to 
clamber  hurriedly  aboard  and  make  our  way  back  to 
the  caboose  along  the  tops  of  the  cattle  cars. 

At  Mandan  two  of  my  old  cow-hands,  Sylvane  and 
Joe  Ferris,  joined  me.  At  Dickinson  all  of  the  older 
people  had  known  me  and  the  whole  town  turned  out 
with  wild  and  not  entirely  sober  enthusiasm.  It  was 
difficult  to  make  them  much  of  a  speech,  as  there  were 
dozens  of  men  each  earnestly  desirous  of  recalling  to 
my  mind  some  special  incident.  One  man,  how  he 
helped  me  bring  in  my  cattle  to  ship,  and  how  a  blue 
roan  steer  broke  away  leading  a  bunch  which  it  took 
him  and  me  three  hours  to  round  up  and  bring  back; 
another,  how  seventeen  years  before  I  had  come  in  a 
freight  train  from  Medora  to  deliver  the  Fourth  of  July 
oration ;  another,  a  gray-eyed  individual  named  [Maun- 


RETURN  AS  PRESIDENT  471 

ders],  who  during  my  early  years  at  Medora  had  shot 
and  killed  an  equally  objectionable  individual,  reminded 
me  how,  just  twenty  years  before,  when  I  was  on  my 
first  buffalo  hunt,  he  loaned  me  the  hammer  off  his 
Sharp's  rifle  to  replace  the  broken  hammer  of  mine; 
another  recalled  the  time  when  he  and  I  worked  on  the 
round-up  as  partners,  going  with  the  Little  Missouri 
"  outfit  "  from  the  head  of  the  Box  Alder  to  the  mouth 
of  the  Big  Beaver,  and  then  striking  over  to  represent 
the  Little  Missouri  brands  on  the  Yellowstone  round-up; 
yet  another  recalled  the  time  when  I,  as  deputy  sheriff 
of  Billings  County,  had  brought  in  three  cattle- thieves 
named  Red  Finnegan,  Dutch  Chris,  and  the  half-breed 
to  his  keeping,  he  being  then  sheriff  in  Dickinson,  etc., 
etc.,  etc. 

At  Medora,  which  we  reached  after  dark,  the  entire 
population  of  the  Bad  Lands  down  to  the  smallest  baby 
had  gathered  to  meet  me.  This  was  formerly  my  home 
station.  The  older  men  and  women  I  knew  well;  the 
younger  ones  had  been  wild  tow-headed  children  when 
I  lived  and  worked  along  the  Little  Missouri.  I  had 
spent  nights  in  their  ranches.  I  still  remembered  meals 
which  the  women  had  given  me  when  I  had  come  from 
some  hard  expedition,  half  famished  and  sharp-set  as  a 
wolf.  I  had  killed  buffalo  and  elk,  deer  and  antelope 
with  some  of  the  men.  With  others  I  had  worked  on 
the  trail,  on  the  calf  round-up,  on  the  beef  round-up. 
We  had  been  together  on  occasions  which  we  still  re- 
membered when  some  bold  rider  met  his  death  in  trying 
to  stop  a  stampede,  in  riding  a  mean  horse,  or  in  the 
quicksands  of  some  swollen  river  which  he  sought  to 
swim.  They  all  felt  I  was  their  man,  their  old  friend; 
and  even  if  they  had  been  hostile  to  me  in  the  old  days, 
when  we  were  divided  by  the  sinister  bickering  and 
jealousies  and  hatreds  of  all  frontier  communities,  they 
now  firmly  believed  they  had  always  been  my  staunch 


472       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

friends  and  admirers.  They  had  all  gathered  in  the 
town  hall,  which  was  draped  for  a  dance  —  young 
children,  babies,  everybody  being  present.  I  shook 
hands  with  them  all,  and  almost  each  one  had  some 
memory  of  special  association  with  me  he  or  she  wished 
to  discuss.  I  only  regretted  that  I  could  not  spend  three 
hours  with  them. 

Hell-Roaring  Bill  Jones  was  supposed  to  be  at 
Gardiner,  Wyoming,  and  Roosevelt,  arriving  there 
a  few  days  later  for  a  camping  trip  through  the 
Yellowstone,  asked  eagerly  for  his  old  friend.  Bill 
Jones  was  down  in  the  world.  He  had  had  to  give 
up  his  work  as  sheriff  in  Medora  because  he  began 
to  lose  his  nerve  and  would  break  down  and  weep 
like  a  child  when  he  was  called  upon  to  make  an 
arrest.  He  was  driving  a  team  in  Gardiner  outside 
the  Park,  and  during  the  days  preceding  Roosevelt's 
arrival  took  so  many  drinks  while  he  was  telling  of 
his  intimacy  with  the  man  who  had  become  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States,  that  he  had  to  be  carried 
into  the  sagebrush  before  Roosevelt  actually  arrived. 
Roosevelt  left  word  to  keep  Bill  Jones  sober  against 
his  return,  and  when  Roosevelt  emerged  from  the 
Park,  they  met  for  the  last  time.  It  was  a  sad  inter- 
view, for  what  was  left  of  Hell-Roaring  Bill  Jones 
was  only  a  sodden,  evil-looking  shell. 

"  Bill  Jones  did  not  live  long  after  that,"  said 
Howard  Eaton.  "  The  last  I  saw  of  him  was  two  or 
three  miles  from  Old  Faithful.  He  said,  '  I'm  going  to 
the  trees.'  We  went  out  to  look  for  him,  but  couldn't 
find  a  trace.  This  was  in  March.    He  wandered  way 


JOE  AND  SYLVANE  FERRIS  AND   MERRIFIELD 
Overlooking  the  site  of  the  Maltese  Cross  Ranch  (1919) 


ROUGH  RIDERS  HOTEL,    I919 
Known  as  the  "Metropolitan"  during  the  Eighties 


DEATH  OF  BILL  JONES  473 

up  one  of  those  ravines  and  the  supposition  is  that 
he  froze  to  death.  Some  fellow  found  him  up  there 
in  June,  lying  at  the  edge  of  a  creek.  The  coyotes 
had  carried  off  one  of  his  arms,  and  they  planted  him 
right  there.   And  that  was  the  end  of  old  Bill  Jones." 

Years  passed,  and  bitter  days  came  to  Roosevelt, 
but  though  other  friends  failed  him,  the  men  of  the 
Bad  Lands  remained  faithful. 

In  191 2,  four  of  them  were  delegates  to  the  Pro- 
gressive Convention — Sylvane  Ferris  from  North 
Dakota,  where  he  was  president  of  a  bank;  Joe 
Ferris,  George  Myers,  and  Merrifield  from  Mon- 
tana. Even  "Dutch  Wannigan,"  living  as  a  her- 
mit in  the  wilderness  forty  miles  west  of  Lake 
MacDonald,  became  an  ardent  Progressive.  "  I 
can't  afford  to  go  to  Helena,"  he  wrote  in  answer  to 
an  appeal  from  Merrifield  to  attend  the  State  Pro- 
gressive Convention,  "  but  if  you  think  there'll  be  a 
row,  I'll  try  to  make  it."  Packard  and  Dantz  gave 
their  pens  to  the  cause. 

George  Myers  was  the  last  of  the  "  cowboy 
bunch  "  to  see  him.  They  met  in  Billings  in  October, 
191 8.  The  town  was  filled  with  the  crowds  who  had 
come  from  near  and  far  to  see  the  man  who,  every- 
body said,  was  sure  again  to  be  President  of  the 
United  States. 

"Have  you  got  a  room,  George?  "  cried  Roose- 
velt, as  they  met. 

Myers  shook  his  head  cheerfully. 

"  Share  mine  with  me,"  said  Roosevelt,  "  and 
we'll  talk  about  old  times." 


474       ROOSEVELT  IN  THE  BAD  LANDS 

Three  months  later  to  a  day,  the  man  who  had 
been  Little  Missouri's  "  four-eyed  tenderfoot  "  was 
dead. 

The  Bad  Lands  are  still  the  Bad  Lands,  except 
that  the  unfenced  prairies  are  fenced  now  and  on 
each  bit  of  parched  bottom-land  a  "  nester  "  has  his 
cabin  and  is  struggling,  generally  in  vain,  to  dig 
a  living  out  of  the  soil  in  a  region  which  God  never 
made  for  farming.  The  treacherous  Little  Missouri 
is  treacherous  still;  here  and  there  a  burning  mine 
still  sends  a  tenuous  wisp  toward  the  blue  sky;  the 
buttes  have  lost  none  of  their  wild  magnificence; 
and  dawn  and  dusk,  casting  long  shadows  across  the 
coulees,  reveal  the  old  heart-rending  loveliness. 

Medora  sleeps  through  the  years  and  dreams  of 
other  days.  Schuyler  Lebo,  who  was  shot  by  the 
Indians,  delivers  the  mail;  "Nitch"  Kendley  oper- 
ates the  pump  for  the  water-tank  at  the  railroad 
station;  a  nonogenarian  called  "  Frenchy,"  who 
hunted  with  Roosevelt  and  has  lost  his  wits,  plays 
cribbage  all  day  long  at  the  "Rough  Riders  Hotel." 
These  three  are  all  that  remain  of  the  gay  aggrega- 
tion that  made  life  a  revel  at  the  "  depot  "  and  at 
Bill  Williams's  saloon.  And  yet,  even  in  its  desola- 
tion, as  the  cook  of  the  "Rough  Riders  Hotel" 
remarked,  "  There's  something  fascinating  about  the 
blinkety- blank  place.  I  don't  know  why  I  stay  here, 
but  I  do." 

The  ranch-house  of  the  Maltese  Cross  has  been 
moved  to  Bismarck,  where  it  stands,  wind-beaten 


THE  END  475 

and  neglected,  in  the  shadow  of  the  capitol.  The 
Elkhorn  ranch-house  is  gone,  used  for  lumber,  but 
the  great  foundation  stones  that  Bill  Sewall  and 
Will  Dow  laid  under  it  remain,  and  the  row  of 
cottonwoods  that  shaded  it  still  stand,  without  a 
gap.  Near  by  are  the  ruins  of  the  shack  which 
Maunders  claimed  and  Roosevelt  held,  in  spite  of 
threats.  The  river  flows  silently  beneath  a  grassy 
bank.   There  is  no  lovelier  spot  in  the  Bad  Lands. 


THE  END 


APPENDIX 


APPENDIX 

ROOSEVELT'S  FIRST  CONTRACT  WITH 
SYLVANE  FERRIS  AND  A.  W.  MERRIFIELD 

(A  COPY  of  this  contract,  in  Mr.  Roosevelt's  handwriting,  is  in  the 
ranch-ledger,  kept,  somewhat  fitfully,  by  Mr.  Roosevelt  and  his  fore- 
men. This  ledger,  which  contains  also  the  minutes  of  the  first  meeting 
of  the  Little  Missouri  River  Stockmen's  Association,  held  in  Medora 
on  December  19,  1884,  is  now  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Joseph  A. 
Ferris,  of  Terry,  Montana.) 

We  the  undersigned,  Theodore  Roosevelt,  party  of  the  first 
part,  and  William  Merrifield  and  Sylvane  Ferris,  parties  of 
the  second  part,  do  agree  and  contract  as  follows: 

1.  The  party  of  the  first  part,  Theodore  Roosevelt,  agrees 
and  contracts  with  the  parties  of  the  second  part,  William 
Merrifield  and  Sylvanus  Ferris,  to  put  in  on  their  ranch  on 
the  Little  Missouri  River,  Dakota,  four  hundred  head  of  cat- 
tle or  thereabouts,  the  cost  not  to  exceed  twelve  thousand 
dollars  (^i 2,000)  and  the  parties  of  the  second  part  do  agree 
to  take  charge  of  said  cattle  for  the  party  of  the  first  part; 
said  cattle  to  be  thus  placed  and  taken  charge  of  for  the  term 
of  seven  years. 

2.  At  the  end  of  said  seven  years  the  equivalent  in  value  of 
said  four  hundred  head  of  cattle,  as  originally  put  in,  is  to  be 
returned  to  the  party  of  the  first  part;  provided  that  the 
parties  of  the  second  part  are  to  have  the  privilege  of  paying 
off  at  any  time  or  times  prior  to  the  expiration  of  said  seven 
years,  in  sums  of  not  less  than  one  thousand  dollars  at  any 
one  time,  said  claim  of  the  party  of  the  first  part  to  the  equiva- 
lent in  value  of  the  original  herd  of  cattle. 

3.  Any  additional  cattle  put  into  the  herd  by  said  party  of 
the  first  part  are  to  be  put  in  on  the  same  terms  as  the  original 
herd,  and  are  to  remain  in  the  herd  for  as  much  of  the  seven 
years  mentioned  in  this  contract  as  is  unexpired  at  the  time 
they  are  put  in. 


480  APPENDIX 

4.  One  half  of  the  increase  of  value  of  said  herd  is  to  belong 
to  the  party  of  the  first  part  and  one-half  to  the  parties  of  the 
second  part. 

5.  The  parties  of  the  second  part  are  to  have  the  power 
from  time  to  time  to  make  such  sales  as  they  in  the  exercise  of 
their  best  judgment  shall  deem  wisest,  provided  that  no  sale 
shall  be  made  sufficient  in  amount  to  decrease  the  herd  below 
its  original  value  except  by  the  consent  of  all  parties  in  writ- 
ing. 

6.  All  monies  obtained  by  such  sales  of  cattle  from  the  herd 
shall  be  divided  equally  between  said  party  of  the  first  part 
and  said  parties  of  the  second  part. 

7.  During  the  continuance  of  said  contract  the  parties  of 
the  second  part  agree  not  to  take  charge  of  nor  have  interest 
in  any  other  stock  than  that  of  said  party  of  the  first  part 
without  his  consent  in  writing. 

8.  Said  parties  of  the  second  part  are  to  keep  accurate  and 
complete  accounts  in  writing  of  the  purchases  and  sales  of 
stock  and  of  the  expenditures  of  all  monies  entrusted  to  their 
care,  which  accounts  are  to  be  submitted  to  said  party  of  the 
first  part  whenever  he  may  desire  it. 

9.  Any  taxes  upon  said  cattle  are  to  be  paid  half  by  the 
party  of  the  first  part,  half  by  the  parties  of  the  second  part. 

10.  Said  cattle  are  to  be  branded  with  the  maltese  cross  on 
the  left  hip  and  are  to  have  the  cut  dewlap,  these  brands  to  be 
the  property  of  the  owner  of  the  cattle ;  the  vent  mark  to  be 
the  letter  R  under  the  maltese  cross. 

Witness:  Signed: 

Roger  S.  Kennedy  Theodore  Roosevelt 

M.  Hanley  {party  of  the  first  part) 

William  Merrifield 
Sylvanus  Ferris 

{parties  of  the  second  part) 
St.  Paul,  Minn.,  September  2'jth,  1883 


APPENDIX  481 

ROOSEVELT'S  CONTRACT  WITH  WILLIAM  W. 
SEWALL  AND  WILMOT  S.  DOW 

Little  Missouri,  Dakota 
Jxine  20,  1885 

We  the  undersigned,  Theodore  Roosevelt,  party  of  the  first 
part,  and  William  Sewall  and  Wilmot  S.  Dow,  parties  of  the 
second  part,  do  agree  and  contract  as  follows: 

(i)  The  party  of  the  first  part  having  put  eleven  hundred 
head  of  cattle,  valued  at  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  (^25,- 
000)  on  the  Elkhorn  Ranche,  on  the  Little  Missouri  River, 
the  parties  of  the  second  part  do  agree  to  take  charge  of  said 
cattle  for  the  space  of  three  years,  and  at  the  end  of  this  time 
agree  to  return  to  said  party  of  the  first  part  the  equivalent  in 
value  of  the  original  herd  (twenty-five  thousand  dollars) ;  any 
increase  in  value  of  the  herd  over  said  sum  of  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars  is  to  belong  two-thirds  to  said  party  of  the 
first  part  and  one-third  to  said  parties  of  the  second  part. 

(2)  From  time  to  time  said  parties  of  the  second  part  shall 
in  the  exercise  of  their  best  judgment  make  sales  of  such  cattle 
as  are  fit  for  market,  the  moneys  obtained  by  said  sales  to  be- 
long two-thirds  to  said  party  of  the  first  part  and  one-third  to 
said  parties  of  the  second  part ;  but  no  sales  of  cattle  shall  be 
made  sufficient  in  amount  to  reduce  the  herd  below  its  original 
value  save  by  the  direction  in  writing  of  the  party  of  the  first 
part. 

(3)  The  parties  of  the  second  part  are  to  keep  accurate 
accounts  of  expenditures,  losses,  the  calf  crop,  etc.;  said  ac- 
counts to  be  always  open  to  the  inspection  of  the  party  of  the 
first  part. 

(4)  The  parties  of  the  second  part  are  to  take  good  care  of 
the  cattle,  and  also  of  the  ponies,  buildings,  etc.,  belonging  to 
said  party  of  the  first  part. 

Signed : 

Theodore  Roosevelt 

{party  of  the  first  part) 
W.  W.  Sewall 
W.  S.  Dow 

{parties  of  the  second  part) 


482  APPENDIX 

ROOSEVELT'S  DAKOTA  INVESTMENT 

Mr.  Roosevelt's  accounts  were  kept  by  Mr.  Frank  C. 
Smith,  confidential  clerk  in  the  office  of  his  brother-in-law, 
Douglas  Robinson.  The  ledgers  reveal  the  following  facts 
concerning  his  Dakota  investments: 

Expended  from  September,  1884,  to  July,  1885  $82,500.00 
Returns  from  cattle  sales,  from  September,  1885,  to 

December,  1891  42,443.32 

Estimated  value  of  cattle  on  the  range,  December, 

1 89 1  16,500. 

Loss,  not  considering  the  interest  on  the  investment       23,556.68 

On  March  28,  1892,  Roosevelt  formed  the  Elkhorn  Stock 
Company,  incorporated  under  the  laws  of  the  State  of  New 
York,  with  Archibald  D.  Russell,  R.  H.  M.  Ferguson,  and 
Douglas  Robinson,  and  on  December  5,  1892,  transferred  his 
cattle  holdings  to  this  Company  at  a  valuation  of  ^16,500. 
Subsequently  he  invested  a  further  sum  of  ^I0,200. 

Investment,  Elkhorn  Stock  Company  $26,700.00 
Returns  in  capital  and  dividends  from  January, 

1893,  to  February,  1899  29,964.05 

Profit,  not  considering  interest  3,264.05 

Loss  on  two  ventures  20,292.63 

The  computation  of  Roosevelt's  loss  in  interest  on  his  in- 
vestment of  ^82, 500.00  figured  at  5  per  cent  from  September 
1884,  to  February,  1899,  the  author  gladly  leaves  to  any  class 
in  arithmetic  which  may  care  to  grapple  with  it.  It  approxi- 
mates ^50,000. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Axelby,  Mr.,  140,  141. 

Bad  Lands,  the,  their  appearance, 
5-7,  18,  23;  the  name,  6;  the  open- 
ing up  of,  24,  25;  the  lawless  ele- 
ment in,  54,  126-30,  136;  horse 
and  cattle  thieves  in,  139-42; 
winter  in,  223-28,  236-38;  spring 
in,  248-50;  styles  in,  321,  322; 
religion  in,  325-28;  law  and  order 
enter,  328-30;  obtain  organized 
government,  387;  a  hard  winter 
in,  430-39;  to-day,  474. 

Bad  Lands  Cowboy,  The,  76,  77,  131- 
33.  329;  burned  out,  451. 

Bear-hunting,  185-88. 

"Ben  Butler,"  276,  289-91. 

Bennett,  Hank,  252,  253. 

Benton,  Thomas  Hart,  Roosevelt's 
Lt/e  of,  371,397-99. 

Bernstead,  375,  386  n. 

Berry-Boyce  Cattle  Co.,  94. 

Big  Horn  Mountains,  hunting  in, 
168,  175-88. 

"Big  Jack"  and  "Little  Jack,"  141, 
142. 

Bismarck,  Dakota,  73. 

Bismarck    Tribune,   on    Roosevelt, 

341- 
Black  Jack,  135. 

Blaine,  James  G.,  nomination  of,  88. 
Blizzard,  a,  431-33. 
Boice,  Henry,  25. 
Bolan,  Pierce,  143,  197,  198. 
Bronco-busting,  225-27. 
Buffalo,  hunting,  23,  24,  28-39,  44. 

45;  extermination  of,  29. 
Bullock,  Seth,  459. 
Buttes,  6,  7,  13,  18,  202,  203. 

Carow,  Edith,  engagement  to  Roose- 
velt, 426;  marriage  of,  430. 

Cattle,  trailing,  268-70. 

Cattle  companies,  242. 

Cattle  torture,  266,  267. 

Chicago  Tribune,  on  Roosevelt,  350. 

Chimney  Butte,  trail  to,  13;  account 
of,  15. 


Coeur  d'Alenes,  419. 

County   organization,    55,    133-35, 

324.  387- 

Cowboys,  talk  of,  100;  their  attitude 
toward  Roosevelt,  loi,  102;  read- 
ing of,  228;  a  song  of,  280;  diver- 
sions of,  281;  character  of,  282; 
profanity  of,  283;  practical  jokes 
of,  283,  284. 

Cummins,  Mr.,  in,  323. 

Cummins,  Mrs.,  and  Mrs.  Roberts, 
III,  112;  her  views,  259,  260; 
Roosevelt  dines  with,  293,  294; 
and  Mrs.  Ferris,  361,  362;  the  last 
of,  456. 

"Custer  Trail,"  13,  109,  no. 

Dantz,  Bill,  56 ;  a  singer  of  songs  and 
a  spinner  of  yarns,  281;  made  Su- 
perintendent of  Education  at  Me- 
dora,  319;  elected  superintendent 
of  schools,  390;  the  last  of,  456, 

473- 
Day,  Chancellor,  289  n. 

Deadwood  stage-line,  the  Marquis's 
project  of,  77,  78,  120-24,  170, 
209-14. 

"Devil,  The,"  271-75. 

Dickinson,  first  Fourth  of  July  cele- 
bration of,  405-11;  growth  of, 
452. 

Dickinson  Press,  the,  helps  county 
organization,  133,  134;  fashion 
notes  in,  321,  322. 

Dow,  Wilmot,  88,  159,  163;  Roose- 
velt's contract  with,  156,  157, 
481 ;  as  a  cow-hand,  189,  190,  206, 
225;  and  the  vigilantes,  191,  192, 
195;  good  company,  217;  his  and- 
irons, 240;  goes  East  to  get  mar- 
ried, 307;  character  of,  313,  314; 
on  a  thief  hunt,  372-80;  termi- 
nates engagement  with  Roosevelt, 
424-28;  the  last  of,  457. 

Dow,  Mrs.,  313. 

Dutch  Chris,  386  n. 

"Dutch  Wannigan."  See  Reuter. 

Dynamite  Jimmie.  See  McShane. 


486 


INDEX 


Eaton,  Howard,  8,  13;  and  the  Mar- 
quis de  Mores,  60,  61 ;  his  appear- 
ance, no;  calls  on  Roosevelt,  164, 
165;  neighbor  of  Roosevelt,  315. 

Eaton  Ranch,  456. 

Eatons,  the,  25,  109,  no,  260,  263, 

456. 
Elkhorn,  ranch,  202,  240;  life  at, 

310-17;  to-day,  475. 
Elkhorn  Stock  Co.,  458. 

Ferguson,  R.  H.  M.,  458. 

Ferris,  Joe,  10,  1 1 ;  his  career,  14-16; 
and  the  extra  saddle  horse,  17; 
brings  down  a  buck,  24;  on  the 
buffalo  hunt,  28-39,  44,  45;  firm 
for  law  and  order,  55,  56,  328; 
becomes  storekeeper,  80,  81; 
prophesies  Presidency  for  Roose- 
velt, 258;  removes  to  Medora, 
319;  banker  of  Bad  Lands,  347; 
gets  married,  360;  in  Medora  in 
its  desolation,  454;  greeted  by 
Roosevelt  in  1900,  465;  delegate 
to  Progressive  Convention,  473. 

Ferris,  Mrs.  Joe,  360-64. 

Ferris,  Sylvane,  12;  his  career,  14- 
16;  becomes  partner  of  Roosevelt, 
42-44;  for  law  and  order,  55,  56; 
signs  contract  with  Roosevelt, 
69,  70,  479,  480;  and  the  Mar- 
quis's cattle,  84-86;  confident  of 
success  in  cattle  raising,  255;  rides 
Ben  Butler,  290,  291;  gets  in- 
volved in  the  law,  300-04;  in  Me- 
dora in  its  desolation,  454;  mar- 
ries, 455;  delegate  to  Progressive 
Convention,  473. 

Finnegan,  Redhead,  368-86,  457. 

Fisher,  John  C,  and  Roosevelt,  102- 
04;  for  county  commissioner,  134; 
and  horse  thieves,  143;  and  Maun- 
ders, 199;  and  Medora's  Great 
White  Way,  319;  at  Medora's  first 
election,  390,  391 ;  the  last  of,  456. 

Fitzgerald,  Mrs.,  52. 

Fitz  James,  Count,  59. 

Flopping  Bill,  195. 

Foley,  457. 

Frazier,  George,  417. 

Frenchy,  474. 

Gentling  the  Devil,  271-75. 
Goat  hunting,  419-24. 


Goodall,  Johnny,  334,  390. 
Gorringe,  H.  H.,  8,  9,  20,  23,  25. 

Hainsley,  Jake,  85. 

Haupt  brothers,  the,  61,  67-69,  79, 

456. 
Herrig,  Fred,  453. 
Hewitt,  Abram  S.,  20. 
Hobson,  H.  H.,  394. 
Hoffman,  Baron  von,  210,  450. 
Hoffman,  Medora  von,  59. 
Hogue,  Jess,  7,  9,  51,  55,  420-23. 
Hollenberg,  Carl,  258  n. 
Horse-thieves.  See  Thieves. 
Huidekoper,  A.  D.,  25,  no. 

Indians,  shooting- match  with,  183, 
184;  trouble  between  whites  and, 
351-54,  357,  358;  Roosevelt's 
view  of,  355;  the  psychology  of, 
356. 

Jameson,  Mr.,  146. 

Jones,  Hell-Roaring  Bill,  1 13-16; 
Roosevelt  makes  friends  with, 
116;  of  the  gay  life  of  Medora, 
128,  322;  expresses  his  opinion  on 
the  scions  of  British  aristocracy, 
261,  262;  and  "Deacon"  Cum- 
mins, 323;  and  the  Elk  Hotel,  360; 
watches  at  the  polling-places,  389, 
390;  in  later  years,  454,  455;  the 
last  of,  472,  473. 

Jones,  Three-Seven  Bill,  246,  247, 
278. 

Kelly,  Pat,  446. 

Kendley,  Nitch,  264,  265,  474. 

La  Pache,  Louis,  195. 

Lang,  Gregor,  11,  12;  his  cabin,  19; 
enjoys  talks  with  Roosevelt,  19, 
24-28;  how  he  established  himself 
at  Little  Missouri,  20-22;  ranch- 
ing offer  made  by  Roosevelt  to, 
41;  makes  prophecy  concerning 
Roosevelt,  46;  refuses  to  make 
friends  with  Marquis  de  Mores, 
62;  the  Marquis  braves  grudge 
against,  118;  his  ranch,  160;  his 
love  of  argument,  263,  264;  dog- 
matic in  his  theories,  264;  rela- 
tions with  Roosevelt  and  the  Mar- 
quis, 338;  in  later  years,  456. 


INDEX 


487 


Lang,  Mrs.  Gregor,  160,  161. 

Lang,  Lincoln,  23,  27,  28,  41;  bis- 
cuits made  by,  34;  his  description 
of  Bill  Williams,  50;  refuses  Roose- 
velt's shot-gun,  96;  his  descrip- 
tion of  Bill  Jones,  115  n.;  on  grudge 
of  Marquis  for  Gregor  Lang,  118 
w. ;  on  anecdote  concerning  Roose- 
velt and  Mrs.  Maddox,  150  «.;  on 
the  round-up,  277  «.;in  later 
years,  456. 

Langs,  the,  on  the  "Three  Seven" 
ranch,  93,  94,  261-63. 

Lebo,  Norman,  175,  176,  180,  185. 

Lebo,  Schuyler,  353,  474. 

Little  Missouri,  7,  8;  society  in,  47- 
57;  proceedings  of  Marquis  de 
Mores  at,  58-65;  begins  to  flour- 
ish, 65,  66;  continues  to  grow,  70- 
73;  setback  for,  77;  the  jail  in,  135; 
to-day,  474. 

Little  Missouri  Land  and  Stock  Co., 
the,  20,  61,  77. 

Little  Missouri  Stock  Association. 
See  Stockmen's  Association. 

Luffsey,  Riley,  63,  64,  1 19. 

Macdonald,  214  n. 

Mackenzie,  Dan,  390. 

MacNab,  49. 

Maddox,  Mrs.,  95,  96,  150,  356. 

Maltese  Cross,  the,  15,  91,  148; 
outfit  of,  92;  first  year  of,  255; 
callers  at,  264,  265;  to-day,  474. 

Mandan  Pioneer,  the,  65,  154,  158. 

Marlow,  Pete,  84,  85. 

Matthews,  84-86. 

Maunders,  Archie,  53,  54. 

Maunders,  Jake,  7,  9,  12,  49,  54- 
57;  disliked  Roosevelt,  58;  and 
the  Marquis  de  Mores,  62-65; 
cleans  out  Johnny  Nelson,  80,  81; 
clings  to  the  Marquis,  126;  and 
horse  and  cattle  thieves,  142; 
marked  for  hanging,  198;  his  dis- 
creetness, 199;  visits  Sewall  in  the 
dugout,  199-201;  threatens  to 
shoot  Roosevelt,  207,  208;  a  bo7ia- 
fide  "bad  man,"  320;  in  Dickinson, 
4571  greets  Roosevelt,  466. 

McFay,  345. 

McGee,  Chris,  no,  165. 

McGeeney,  Pete,  52. 

McGeeney,  Mrs.  Pete,  7,  52,  55,  56. 


McShane,  Jimmie,  347. 

Medicine  buttes,  202,  203. 

Medora,  8,  48:  founded  by  Marquis 
de  Mores,  61;  blossoms  forth,  jj; 
life  of,  dominated  by  the  Mar- 
quis, 1 16-18;  gay  life  of,  127; 
notorious  for  its  iniquity,  128-30; 
attempts  at  reform  in,  131-35;  in 
need  of  a  jail,  135;  mass  meeting 
at,  136,  137;  police  force  and  fire 
department  of,  137,  138;  growth 
of,  170,  318-20;  possessed  deputy 
marshal,  221;  the  coming  of  law 
in,  323,  328;  religion  at,  325;  first 
election  at,  389-91;  its  glory  de- 
parted, 451,  452,  454;  visited  by 
Roosevelt  as  nominee  for  vice- 
presidency,  466;  Roosevelt's  last 
visit  to,  469;  to-day,  474. 

Merrifield,  A.  W.,  12;  his  career, 
14-16;  becomes  partner  of  Roose- 
velt, 42-44;  tries  to  establish  law 
in  Little  Missouri,  56;  signs  con- 
tract with  Roosevelt,  69,  70,  479, 
480;  and  the  Marquis's  cattle, 
84-86;  tries  out  Roosevelt  on  the 
Sully  Trail,  103,  104;  on  hunting 
trip,  175-88;  confident  of  suc- 
cess in  cattle  raising,  255;  carries 
news  of  Mrs.  Ferris's  adherence 
to  cowboys,  361,  362;  marries, 
447 ;  delegate  to  Progressive  Con- 
vention, 473. 

Mexico,  flurry  over,  413,  414. 

Miles  City,  392-95. 

Mingusviile,  151-54,  242-47. 

Montana  Live  Stock  Association, 
219. 

Montana  Stockgrowers'  Associa- 
tion, 392-95,  444-46. 

Mores,  Marquis  de,  25;  arrival  at 
Little  Missouri,  58-60;  his  views, 
60,  61;  and  the  Northern  Pacific 
Refrigerator  Car  Co.,  61,  79; 
founds  Medora,  61 ;  tries  to  win 
supporters,  62;  and  Maunders, 
62-65;  and  Riley  Luffsey,  63,64, 
119;  in  business,  67-69;  extends 
his  business,  70-72;  and  The 
Bad  Lands  Cowboy,  76;  and  the 
Deadwood  stage,  77,  78,  120-24, 
170,  209-14;  loss  of  his  sheep, 
78;  his  cabbage  project,  79, 
80;  removes  his  cattle  from  the 


488 


INDEX 


Roosevelt  bottom-land,  84-86; 
description  of,  116;  dominates 
life  of  Medora,  117;  his  grudge 
against  Gregor  Lang,  118;  lacked 
judgment,  119;  and  Roosevelt, 
124;  on  the  side  of  violence, 
125,  130;  tries  to  join  Stuart's 
vigilantes,  I47;claims  Roosevelt's 
range,  165,  191;  member  of  stock- 
men's association,  234;  his  idea  of 
the  Western  climate,  23^1;  and  his 
abattoir,  331-34;  and  kaoline, 
334;  without  friends  in  Medora, 
334;  liked  the  Bad  Lands^35;  his 
genealogy,  335,  336;  relates  with 
Roosevelt,  336-42,  345-49".  in- 
dicted for  murder,  342,  343;  in 
jail,  344;  his  trial,  345,  34^;  goes 
to  P" ranee,  359;  new  schemes  of, 
447-50;  leaves  for  India,  450;  ar- 
ticle in  Sioux  Falls  Press  on,  450; 
later  career  and  death  of,  460-63. 

Mores,  Marquise  de,  462,  463. 

Morrill,  Joe,  143;  deputy  marshal 
in  Medora,  221,  222;  stock  in- 
spector, 324;  sheriff,  390;  vs. 
George  Myers,  442-44;  dismissed 
from  inspectorship,  444,  445; 
later  encounters  with  Roosevelt, 

457- 

Mountain  sheep,  huntmg,  228-32. 

Mugwumps,  the,  88,  172,  208. 

Myers,  George,  cowpuncher,  93; 
his  cookery,  106,  107,  232;  in- 
vests in  cattle,  255;  accused  of 
cattle  stealing,  442-44;  in  later 
years,  467,  473. 

Nelson,  Johnny,  7,  80,  81. 
Nesters,  194-96. 

Newburyport  Herald,  quoted,  384. 
Nolan,  Mrs.,  242,  245-47. 
Northern  Pacific  Refrigerator  Car 

Co.,  61,  79,  117. 
Nugent,  Lord,  25. 

O'Donald,  Frank,  63,  64,  66,  67. 
O'Hara,  Johnnj',  329. 
Olmstead,  Mrs.,  96  n. 
Osterhaut,  278,  324. 

Packard,  A.  T.,  arrival  in  Little 
Missouri,  73;  and  the  cowboy, 
73-75;   starts  a  newspaper,   76; 


and  the  Deadwood  stage-line, 
123,  124,  170,  209-14;  a  civilizing 
influence,  130,  131;  endeavors  to 
introduce  law  and  order  in  the 
Bad  Lands,  131-35;  issues  call  for 
mass  meeting,  136;  chief  of  police 
at  Medora,  137-39;  announces  de- 
mise of  horse-thieves,  193,  194;  en- 
thusiastic over  the  Bad  Lands, 
254;  his  account  of  Roosevelt  and 
the  Devil,  271-75;  tries  again  for 
county  organization,  324,  387; 
firm  for  order  and  decency,  328, 
329;  realizes  bigness  of  Roosevelt, 
411;  excoriates  Morrill,  443; 
supports  Progressive  cause,  473. 

Paddock,  Jerry,  51,  52,  62. 

Paddock,  Mrs.,  52. 

Pender,  Sir  John,  20-22,  25,  455. 

Prairie  fires,  351,  357,  358. 

Presidential  Convention,  the,  1884, 
88. 

Putnam,  George  Haven,  359. 

Ranges,  cattle,  91,  92;  claims  on, 
219;  need  of  law  of,  220. 

Religion,  in  the  Bad  Lands,  325-28. 

Renter,  John,  16;  and  Riley  Luffsey, 
63,  64;  returns  to  old  occupa- 
tions, 169;  one  of  Roosevelt's 
scow-hands,  338,  339;  and  the 
Marquis,  347;  becomes  Progres- 
sive, 473. 

Roberts,  Lbyd,  456. 

Roberts,  Margaret,  III,  112,  258- 
60,  456. 

Robins,  Captain,  160,  189;  his  bout 
with  Sewall,  161-64. 

Robinson,  Douglas,  458. 

Roderick,  Mrs.,  52. 

Roosevelt,  Anna,  104-06. 

Roosevelt,  James,  40,  70. 

Roosevelt,  Theodore,  arrives  in  Lit- 
tle Missouri,  3-5;  his  reason  for 
going  to  the  Bad  Lands,  8;  starts 
on  buffalo  hunt,  12-14;  gets  an 
extra  saddle  horse,  16,  17;  enjoys 
talks  with  Gregor  Lang,  19,  24- 
28;  hunting  buffalo,  28-39;  de- 
sirous of  buying  a  large  farm,  39; 
interested  in  ranching  projects, 
40,  41;  secures  two  partners,  42, 
43;  gives  check  for  fourteen  thou- 
sand dollars  without  receipt,  43; 


INDEX 


489 


kills  his  buffalo,  44-46;  relished 
things  blood-cuniUng,  47;  signs 
contract  with  Syl\ane  and  Mer- 
rifield,  69,  70,  479,  480;  his  cat- 
tle venture  is  disapproved  of  by 
family,  70;  enters  upon  third 
term  in  New  York  Legislature, 
81,  82;  death  of  mother  and  wife, 
82;  of  public  activities  of,  82,  83, 
87,  88;  refuses  to  join  Mug- 
wumps, 88,  172,  208;  description 
of,  89;  describes  Presidential 
Convention,  90,  91;  makes  new 
contract,  94;  gets  buckskin  suit, 
95,  96;  shoots  antelope,  97;  enters 
into  life  of  ranchman,  97,  98;  on 
the  round-up, 99. 275-307, 400-03 ; 
attitude  of  cowboys  toward,  loi, 
102;  tried  out  on  the  Sully  Trail, 
103,  104;  his  life  as  cowboy,  104, 
105;  on  solitary  hunting  trip,  105, 
106;  tries  cooking,  107;  his  reading 
and  MTiting,  108,  109;  a  good 
mixer,  112;  and  Bill  Jones,  115, 
116;  and  the  Marquis,  124;  tries 
to  join  Stuart's  vigilantes,  146; 
determines  upon  spot  for  home- 
ranch,  149;  and  Mrs.  Maddox, 
150;  adventures  at  Mingusville, 
150-54,  244-47;  editorial  on,  in 
the  Mandan  Pioneer,  154;  on  the 
Bad  Lands,  in  the  New  York 
Tribune,  156;  contract  with  Sewall 
and  Dow,  156,  157,  481;  inter- 
viewed by  the  Pioneer,  158,  159; 
on  the  ranch,  159-65;  prepares 
for  hunting  trip,  168,  169,  173, 
174;  demanded  as  first  Congres- 
sional representative  of  Dakota, 
171;  his  political  standing  in 
the  East,  172;  always  wanted  to 
make  the  world  better,  174,  219; 
his  hunting  trip  in  the  Big  Horn 
Mountains,  175-88;  shoots  a  griz- 
zly, 185-88;  returns  to  Elkhorn, 
202-05;  threatened  by  Maun- 
ders, 207,  208;  makes  campaign 
speeches  in  New  Y'ork,  208;  night 
ride  of,  216,  217;  depression  of, 
217-19;  starts  a  reform,  219,  222; 
in  winter  on  the  ranch,  223-28; 
hunts  mountain  sheep,  228-32; 
forms  stockmen's  association, 
231-34- 


Returns  to  New  York  and 
works  on  "Hunting  Trips  of  a 
Ranchman,"  235,  239;  his  derby 
hat,  239;  illness  of,  240,  241 ;  swims 
the  Little  Missouri,  249-52 ;  and  his 
ranching  companions,  252,  253;  a 
capable  ranchman,  255;  intolerant 
of  dishonesty  and  ineffective- 
ness, 256,  257;  how  esteemed  by 
the  ranchmen,  257,  258;  and  the 
buttermilk,  259;  and  the  neigh- 
bors, 260-64;  tries  cooking  again, 
265;  trailing  cattle,  268-70;  his 
horsemanship,  270,  271;  gentles 
the  Devil,  271-75;  on  the  round- 
up, 275-307;  breaks  bronco,  287- 
89;  tries  Ben  Butler,  289-91; 
breaks  point  of  shoulder,  290,  291, 
293;  attends  dinner  at  Mrs.  Cum- 
mins's,  293,  294;  in  the  stampede, 
295-97;  rescues  Englishman  with 
lasso,  297,  298;  his  enjoyment 
of  the  cowboy  life,  305,  306; 
interviewed  at  St.  Paul,  308,  309; 
his  life  at  Elkhorn,  310-12, 
316,  317;  adventure  with  Wads- 
worth's  dog,  315,  316;  rela- 
tions with  the  Marquis,  336-42, 
345-49;  did  not  intend  to  enter 
Dakota  politics,  350,  351;  adven- 
ture with  Indians,  353,  354;  his 
attitude  toward  the  Indians,  355, 
356;  breaks  his  arm,  359;  writes 
articles  for  press,  359;  and  Mrs. 
Ferris,  363,  364;  anger  at  theft 
of  boat,  365-71;  undertakes  Life 
of  T.  H.  Benton,  371;  on  a  thief 
hunt,  372-86;  representative  of 
stockmen's  association,  392-95; 
his  cattle  prospects,  395-97;  con- 
tmues  his  Life  of  Benton,  397-99; 
his  enjoyable  summer  of  1886, 
401,  402;  his  influence  over  the 
cowboys,  403;  Fourth  of  July  ora- 
tion, 407-11;  restlessness  of,  412; 
feelings  at  prospect  of  war  with 
Mexico,  413-15;  what  he  got  from 
the  Western  life,  416;  his  human 
sympathy,  41 7;  holds  up  train,  41 8, 
419;  goes  goat  hunting  with  John 
Willis,  419-24;  terminates  engage- 
ment with  Sewall  and  Dow,  424- 
28. 

Becomes  engaged  to  Edith  Ca- 


490 


INDEX 


row,  426;  nominated  for  Mayor 
of  New  York  City,  429;  marriage, 
430;  his  losses,  440,  441;  assumes 
leadership  in  stockmen's  associa- 
tion, 446;  later  visits  to  Bad 
Lands,  453.  454.  458;  books  of, 
453.  454;  member  of  Civil  Service 
Commission,  454;  later  encounters 
with  Morrill,  457,  458;  meets 
Seth  Bullock,  459;  rnember  of 
Civil  Service  Commission,  Police 
Commissioner,  and  Assistant  Sec- 
retary of  the  Navy,  463;  in 
Spanish  War,  463,  464;  Governor 
of  New  York,  464;  goes  to  Da- 
kota as  nominee  for  vice-presi- 
dency, 465-68;  becomes  Presi- 
dent, 468;  entertains  cowboys  at 
White  House,  468,  469;  visits  Me- 
dora  for  last  time,  469-72;  death, 
473;   Dakota  investment,  482. 

Rough  Riders,  the,  464. 

Round-up,  the,  99,  220,  275-307, 
403-03- 

Rowe,  313,  314- 

Russell,  Archibald  D.,  458. 

St.  Paul  Pioneer  Press,  its  version  of 
the  Roosevelt-Mores  bargain,  341 . 

Sewall,  Bill,  87;  Roosevelt's  con- 
tract with,  156,  157,  481;  his 
opinion  of  the  West  as  a  cattle- 
raising  country,  159,  160,  206, 
238,  240,  254,  306,  307.. 396;  his 
bout  with  Captain  Robins,  162- 
64;  his  description  of  the  Bad 
Lands,  167,  168,  190;  begs  off  on 
hunting  trip,  175;  as  a  cow- 
hand, 189,  190,  206,  225;  and  the 
vigilantes,  191,  192,  195;  visited 
by  Maunders  in  the  dugout,  199- 
201 ;  had  good  knowledge  of  the 
ways  of  cattle,  206,  207;  consoles 
Roosevelt,  217-19;  refuses  to 
ride  broncos,  225-27;  on  the 
cold  of  the  Bad  Lands,  236,  238; 
describes  "cattle  torture,"  266, 
267;  superintends  the  house  at 
Elkhorn,  312;  level-headed,  313; 
helps  clean  up  country  of  thieves, 
324;  lectures  Roosevelt,  359;  on 
a  thief  hunt,  372-80;  terminates 
engagement  with  Roosevelt,  424- 
28;  in  later  years,  457. 


Sewall,  Mrs.,  310-13. 

Simpson,  John,  25,  385. 

Sioux    Falls    Press,    on    Roosevelt, 

429. 
Smith,  "Vic,"  9  n. 
Snyder,  Jack,  436. 
Stage-line,   the   Deadwood,   77,   78, 

120-24,  170,  209-14,  334. 
Stampede,  295-97. 
Starr,  Western,  303,  304,  385. 
Stickney,    Dr.,    291-93,    325,    382, 

383- 

Stockmen's  association,  Roosevelt 
makes  move  to  form,  222,  223; 
formation  of,  232-34;  activity  of, 
323,324;  its  action  on  prairie  fires, 
358;  Roosevelt  representative  of, 
390. 

Stranglers,  the,  192-94. 

Stuart,  Granville,  144-46;  his  vigi- 
lantes, 146,  147,  157-59,  192-94. 

Styles  in  the  Bad  Lands,  321,  322. 

Sully  Trail,  the,  102-04. 

"Tepee  Bottom,"  iii. 

Thieves,  horse  and  cattle,   139-47; 

rounding  up  of,  157-59,  192-94. 
"Three  Seven,"  the,  94. 
"Tolu  Tonic,"  22. 
Trimble,  Richard,  40. 
Truscott,  J.  L.,  390. 

Valentine  scrip,  61. 

Vallombrosa,      Antoine     de.      See 

Mores. 
Van  Brunt,  no. 
Van  Driesche,  334,  390. 
Van  Zander,  128,  322,  363,  457. 
"V-Eye,"  no. 
Vigilantes,  Stuart's,  146,  147,  157- 

59,  192-94;  other,  192,  194-96. 
Vine,  Captain,  10,  21. 
Vine,  Darius,  21,  53,  54. 
Vine,  Frank,   10,  22-24,56,  61;  his 

joke  on  Packard,  73-75. 
Vines,  the,  456. 

Wadsworth  dog,  the,  315,  316. 
Wadsworth  family,  15,  25. 
Walker,  J.  B.,  360. 
Wannigan.  See  Reuter. 
Watterson,  Walter,  275. 
Wharfenberger,  375. 
Wibaux,  Pierre,  242. 


INDEX 


491 


Williams,  Bill,  7,  9:  description  of, 
50,  51 ;  thief,  54,  81 ;  starts  freight, 
line,  120;  and  stage-line,  122;  in 
the  gay  life  of  Medora,  128;  his 
saloon,  319,  320;  a  bona- fide  "bad 
man,"    320;    and    the    preacher, 


325  «.;    the   last   of    his   saloon, 

454- 
Willis,  John,  419-24.  454.  469- 
Wister,  Owen,  The  Virginian,  214  n. 

Young,  Farmer,  315. 


(9Cfte  mitoer^ibe  ^n0!i 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U  .  S  .  A 


2-9.'i^ 


Hi 


,  .^/N'yERSITY  OF  ILUN0I9-URBANA 


3  0112  049387019 


